Vignettes
by thejedisentinel
Summary: A mix of long and short scenes from the KoTOR game.
1. Chapter 1

All was silent in the Ebon Hawk as it shunted through hyperspace, the rolling meadows and verdant lushness of Dantooine now light-years away. A Republic soldier-turned-Jedi stared blankly out of the viewport, watching the stars streak by like ghostly festoons.

It was, he mused, a _welcome _silence.

Carth and Canderous had retired to their bunks in a state of pique. It had started with Carth getting upset over Bastila's dogged refusal to reveal what exactly had been said by the Council, and Canderous' incessant complaints about having had to go three weeks on Dantooine without any alcoholic stimulation. Then Carth had followed Bastila around the Ebon Hawk as she gave their supplies and equipment a final once-over in preparation for takeoff, pestering her to tell him why the Council had granted her a private audience which they then expanded to include one _junior_ Republic soldier, much to the annoyance of _Lieutenant_ Carth Onasi.

This line of inquiry, having fallen victim to one of Bastila's trademark icy glares, was speedily succeeded by a long and expansive monologue that ranged over a variety of subjects, including and not limited to the bombing of Taris, the Sith threat, the lack of recognition given to the hardworking rank-and-file of the Republic, the ingratitude of Jedi who 'misplaced' their lightsabers, the lack of space on the Ebon Hawk for any more "stragglers", betrayal, life insurance policies, and the evils of Mandalorian culture.

That last one, the Jedi mused, had been _particularly_ impolitic.

Canderous defended his heritage with great tenacity, as was only to be expected. Carth bulldozed on, heedless. Resentment at being "kept out of the loop", memories of a past wrong that he refused to speak of, and testosterone conspired to rob Carth of his usual self-control. Some rather descriptive expletives were applied to various parts of Carth's anatomy by Canderous, and immediately thereafter, Carth and Canderous were rolling on the floor of the cargo hold, punching the air out of each other. Bastila and Juhani had stopped the fight fairly quickly by creating a stasis field with the Force. Unfortunately, as Juhani later put it, neither had imagined that two Human men would use their _teeth_ on each other in a _fistfight_: consequently, all thought of separating both men while they were under the effects of stasis was abandoned in favour of simply leaving them to 'thaw' under Mission's watchful eye, while everyone else suddenly remembered little errands that had been mysteriously left undone.

The Jedi rubbed his eyes and blinked. Really. Leaving **Mission** to look after stasis-frozen Carth and Canderous? What had Bastila and Juhani been _thinking_?

Mission had seized the opportunity to give both men brand-new haircuts. He suspected that she had used an inverted bowl to create Carth's. Canderous' hair was beyond description.

"Well, at least now that they've got something in common, perhaps they'll just shut up and stop picking fights with each other, y'know? I mean, like, now they've both got terrible hair, perhaps that'll teach them to think before they start making bantha poodoo out of each other, yeah? 'Cos, like, if they've gotta be put under stasis again, I might be tempted to make more improvements, y'know?"

Only T3-M4 had found it funny.

* * *

"You're not supposed to sleep while on cockpit duty."

He didn't even bother opening an eye. "Good thing I'm not asleep, then."

"Sitting with your eyes shut and not moving for fifteen minutes? You didn't even know when I sat down."

"I did. The seat made a funny noise when you sat down. I think you're gaining weight, Princess."

Bastila glared at the Jedi in the pilot's seat. "Excuse me? I hardly think my weight is any of your concern. Keeping watch on the controls when you're on duty, however, is. Be mindful of yourself!"

"The controls are fine. T3's keeping tabs on them. He'll beep if anything's amiss. Besides," - the Jedi opened an eye and looked over at Bastila - "a little more weight would look good on you. Fill you out."

"Are you saying I'm scrawny?"

"No."

"For your information, I watch what I eat _very_ carefully! My diet is perfectly balanced, and I happen to _like_ the way I look."

"Glad to hear that, Princess, too many women have body-image problems. You don't have to justify yourself to me, you know." He opened both eyes and fixed them on her. Baiting Bastila was always a welcome diversion. It was rather like pulling the pigtails of the girl who sat in front of you in school that you liked, because it made her notice you, the Jedi thought to himself. Some things a guy just couldn't grow out of.

"I am _not _justifying myself to you. I was merely saying that I think I look all right, contrary to your opinion."

"So it does matter to you after all what I think! No wonder you were watching me for fifteen minutes."

"You flatter yourself - I - wait, what? No! No, I haven't been watching you for - what - you're - I haven't been!"

"Oh, come on. We **both** know you like watching me. See anything you like? Fifteen minutes...! That's awfully long to spend watching something you _don't_ like."

The tips of Bastila's ears turned red. "Your vanity will be your undoing. I merely observed that you were breathing slowly, which is what happens when people fall asl-"

"You were watching me! I knew it!"

"I merely observed the way your chest rose and fell!"

The Jedi sat up and let out a bark of laughter. "My chest? You were staring at my chest? Oh, things are getting clearer here - what else do you find pleasing to look at?"

Bastila gave herself a mental slap for having walked into that one so easily, and fought to regain her impassivity.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Go and fall asleep somewhere else. I have a cockpit shift to attend to."

Leaning back in the pilot's seat, the Jedi affected a deep yawn and stretched. "This seat suits me just fine, Princess. Besides, Carth and Canderous snore, and after that fight, they probably reek of sweat, too. I'm staying put."

In a carefully nonchalant tone, Bastila answered, "Be my guest."

The Jedi grinned. There would be time to tease her again later, but right now he would sleep.

* * *

It was nearly time for Carth to take over monitoring the controls. Some wisps of hair had escaped from the pigtails she normally wore them in, and were starting to tickle her nostrils and ears. Freeing her hair from the clasps that held the pigtails in place, Bastila proceeded to re-braid her hair. But her hair seemed to have ideas of its own today - constantly working free from the braid, or twisting up into untidy shapes, refusing to be brushed down, so that it took her several attempts to get the braids on both sides of her head to an acceptable standard.

"So that's how princesses do their hair."

Bastila swiveled around to face the source of that comment, and found herself almost face-to-face with the occupant of the pilot's seat. He had moved the seat closer to the low partition separating the pilot and co-pilot's seats, and had artfully draped his arms over it, resting his chin on the top of the partition, and was grinning like a Kowakian monkey-lizard.

"I would have helped you with your hair, you know, if you had asked," he said conversationally.

"I didn't need your help," Bastila retorted. "And it's nearly time for Carth to take over, and he likes the seat you're on."

Then it registered, belatedly, that he had been watching her. "You were watching me!"

"I was. Any reason why I shouldn't?"

The words raced to her mouth before her brain could stop them. "Because just a few hours ago, you said I'd look better if I put some weight on, which means you don't like the way I look - not that that opinion of yours matters much - which, logically, means that there can't be anything here" - Bastila made a haphazard gesture around her head with her hands - "that you like, because otherwise you wouldn't have said what you did!"

The Jedi shrugged. "Actually, I think you're pretty. And that you have beautiful hair."

A compliment. That was the last thing she expected from him. Not the last thing she would like, but certainly the last expected thing. Bastila didn't know how to react, but she needn't have worried, because her reflexes did her thinking for her.

She blushed. Again.

"You two doin' okay - hey, whoa.. whoa. What'd you do to the Princess, buddy? Almost thought we had a Zeltron there, ha ha ha...!" Carth sauntered into the cockpit, looking and smelling ever-so-slightly the worse for wear from his scuffle with Canderous.

Bastila groaned inwardly. Dealing with an unrepentantly cheeky amnesiac former Sith Lord alone was bad enough, and now there was a smelly Carth to put up with as well.

"Nothing she doesn't like, Carth. Princess, you need feeding. Lieutenant Carth here's never going to forgive me if I let his Jedi General starve, after all we had to do to rescue her..."

Carth took over the pilot's seat with the air of a baron returning to his ancestral estate. "Yeah. You two run along to the pantry. I'll manage." He shooed the two Jedi out of the cockpit, and turned his attention to reading the hyperdrive data output, as the Republic soldier-turned-Jedi snapped to attention, executed a mock salute and quipped, "Sir, yes Sir!"

Gazing at the transparisteel of the viewport, Carth sniggered and shook his head as he watched the newly-minted Jedi cheekily offering his arm to a mortified General Bastila. Those two were just like a bad holovid. Almost as bad, Carth thought, as the state his hair was now in. Damn Twi'lek teenager.

A muffled roar of rage sounded from the starboard refresher, accompanied by a string of choice Mandalorian curses. Carth grinned. This day was getting _better_ by the minute.


	2. Chapter 2

It was _hot_. _Stiflingly_ hot. If he squinted just right, he could make out the hazy blur of heat waves rising off the sandy pavement all around. Even, the Jedi thought, off the burnished surface of the badge identifying the man now purposefully waddling towards him as the dock official. Would he be able to make out heat waves rising off the top of the dock official's head if he stared hard or long enough? The Jedi pushed aside the speculation and turned his attention to the present.

"Credits! You docks, you pays. Ain't gorra negotiation." A chubby hand presented itself, and the Jedi followed it through eyes half-closed against the glare of the noonday Tatooine suns, until it reached a shoulder, which morphed into a fat neck, over which some rather flabby jowls had draped themselves. A face.

"By the Twi'lek goddess - hasn't anyone here heard of _shaded_ parking?" questioned the Jedi. A soft snort followed by a girlish chuckle indicated Bastila's wry amusement and Mission's appreciation of a fine piece of vintage cultural blasphemy. "What's the fee - a hundred? You have to be kidding. No, you aren't. Oh, bugger. Tell me some part of this is going towards dock improvement..."

The dock official scowled. "You fink? Kriffing place bein' full of Jawas wot steal anyfink wot ain't welded down or ray-shielded, innit? An' them Tusken scumbags. And the Corp. ain't here for no community-buildin', innit? So, you gimme the dosh, we call it quits, geddit?"

He could literally hear Bastila groaning inwardly at the dock official's flagrant abuse of Basic. Feeling around in his pockets for the requisite credichips, the Jedi realized that he was short by about twenty. As he ducked back into the _Ebon Hawk_ to retrieve the rest of his purse, Bastila called to him. "Get my credipouch too, while you're in there. I don't want to have to run back and forth in this dreadful heat."

* * *

The Force had a sense of humour. Contrary to Bastila's expressed wishes, they had spent the day running "back and forth in this dreadful heat". First to the Czerka office, then to the hunting-lodge, and _after that_, they had had to track down the shop of some 'Yuka Laka' and purchase a droid, because - for reasons unknown - someone had seen fit to build an _assassination droid_ that spoke the Tusken language, but of _course_ things couldn't have just run smoothly like a well-lubricated T-14 hyperdrive generator, could they? There had been what Bastila chose to refer to as "an incident" on the streets. With three Dark Jedi, no less. And then Bastila and Mission had had a little spat.

No, no. Correction: they had been running around like headless avians even _before_ that, the Jedi thought. In fact, they had been 'running around' almost as soon as they landed on Tatooine. He'd emerged from the _Ebon Hawk_, credipouches in hand, to find both Bastila and Mission engaged in independent conversations with different women. The dock official scarpered as soon as he collected the docking fee. It wasn't difficult to guess why: Mission was practically screeching, and Bastila looked as if someone had just recited a list of the galaxy's choicest obscenities to her.

He had managed to defuse both situations, somewhat. Unfortunately, one of the successes had resulted in rather a lot more 'running around' being penciled into his very near future. Mission's brother, the Jedi thought, was a galaxy-class lump of _snot_: he was thoroughly incapable of staying on the straight and narrow for more than five minutes without supervision, incredibly immature, possessed of no forward-thinking _whatsoever_, and Mission would really be a whole lot better off without him, he was utterly selfish - and -

The Jedi sighed. It really would be pointless to attempt to enumerate all of Griff Vao's faults. One's datapad would simply run out of memory space even _before_ the battery drained. Still, helping Griff to the best of his abilities would serve the dual purpose of practicing Jedi virtue as well as laying the foundation of a future object lesson on Griff's immaculate unreliability, for Mission. That, at the very least, would help secure Mission's future to some extent.

He sighed. There would be lots more 'running around' Tatooine again tomorrow, he was sure of that.

And now there were _gizka_ on the ship, too. Bugger.

"I have an announcement to make," he told Bastila as he sat down across from her in the pantry, at breakfast. A lone gizka hopped forlornly across his feet. He scuffed at it, and it hopped away.

A look of mild alarm spread across Bastila's face. "What?"

"You really ought to put on some of that cream that Mission slathers on her head before she goes out."

"_What_? What cream?"

"Solar protectant, Princess. For your beautiful skin. Unless you prefer to look like a _Zeltron_ - which, come to think of it, wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing unless you started to _behave_ like one of them."

Bastila sat up straight. "A Zelt - really...! _I_ - behave like - oh..! That's **_disgusting._** How can you even _think_ of these things, you're a Jedi, you - "

He cut her off and affected a hangdog expression. "I am a very bad boy. And you are an attractive woman."

"Yes, you are - no, I mean - what! You're ridicul - you say the most ridiculous things..!"

"Encouraging you to make peace with your mother is _not_ ridiculous."

"No, _she_ is ridiculous, not you!" She was frowning now. Of all the things he could have talked about, he had to mention the one thing that was virtually guaranteed to sour her day.

"You just told me you think I'm ridiculous. And that I say ridiculous things."

"That is _**not**_ what I meant. And my mother is **_my_** business." She glared at him icily.

Better approach this one carefully, the Jedi thought. "Well, that is true. And I won't force you to make peace with your mother, either. But what's it going to cost you to do so? If she's having you on about her dying, you walk away the bigger person. If she's not, then you've saved yourself a lifetime of regret," he said mildly. "Either way, you gain." He stole a quick glance at Bastila, who appeared to have been struck by a thought. Pressing his advantage, he continued: "However, you stand to lose - _morally_, mind you, which is a priceless loss - if you don't make your peace with her. So, if you ask me - net gain, however minimal, beats an unquantifiable loss anytime. You might think it's ridiculous, but me? I'd choose net gain."

Gathering up a few energy bars, the Jedi stood to leave. "I'll be with the guys. Give me a shout when you're good to go, Princess."

The door clicked shut. Bastila stared at her half-eaten fruit salad, which had suddenly lost its appeal. Had she heard right? She had just been given a lecture on morality. By _Revan_, of all people. _**Revan**_.

Bastila thought it might be possible to die of embarrassment.

* * *

Carth and Canderous clapped the Jedi heartily on the back after HK-47 finished his recital of the day's events.

"Balls of _durasteel,_ buddy - going in after a krayt like that...!" Canderous radiated manly Mandalorian approval.

"Oi! The man's a Republic soldier - of _course_ he's got balls of durasteel - balls the size of _Serrocco,_ we Republicos don't take 'em in any smaller sizes..!" Carth was not about to be outdone by the Mandalorian.

"Yeah? Well, maybe that'd explain why we Mandalorians _crushed_ your precious Republic balls so damn easy! They don't stand up to a good nuking!" Canderous raised a hand and slowly drew his fingers in palmwards, graphically illustrating his point.

"And your Mandalorian balls are much better? For kriff's sake - real men don't wear metal_ panties_ in a hot zone!"

"Republicos don't wear 'metal panties' 'cos their balls can't take the _heat_! If you can't take the heat, get the kark outta the kitchen, flyboy!"

"Real men with real balls don't _slaughter_ defenseless women and children!"

"Oh, yeah? And _leaving_ the women and children defenseless is manly, huh? Yeah, real manly. Real balls you got!" Their mutual admiration of the heroics narrated by HK-47 was now forgotten, and Carth and Canderous were glaring at each other maliciously. HK-47's processor light was blinking furiously.

"Interested query: Are you two going to _fight_? Request: Might I be invited to partake in the hostilities? Will this be a fight to the death? Honest confession: I do so _love_ fights to the death!"

Juhani's voice carried loudly from the cabin which she shared with Mission and Bastila. "What is all this talk about the male parts of the anatomy? I do _not_ need to hear this! _Bastila_ does not need to hear this. The _child_ does not need to hear this! _**Please**_! So uncivilized!"

"Oi! _**Who**_ are you calling a child?" Mission's riposte was immediate, and forceful.

The Jedi groaned audibly. He didn't need the Force to sense that things were going to take a downhill turn quickly if not defused.

"HK, there is _not_ going to be a fight. _Nobody_ is going to fight _anyone_. Carth is going to go to the _pantry_ to have a long, cold drink. Canderous is going to have a _shower_." Fixing both veterans with a meaningful stare, the Jedi added, "Now." For a few tense seconds, the Mandalorian and the Republic officer continued their staring match. Then, as if in deference to a mutually-respected, unspoken command, both men broke away abruptly and stalked off in opposite directions.

The Jedi heaved a sigh of relief. Peace had been brokered - at least for now. He would really have to sit down and talk to one, or both men, about ceasing their hostilities soon - if this mission were to have any decent chance of being a success.

"Disappointment: Master...! You ruined _everything_!" HK sounded almost plaintive.

"No, I haven't, HK. I am merely helping you conserve... capacitor power for... your next... _assignment_." Great, thought the Jedi. Two war vets who want to punch the stuffing out of each other at every given opportunity, a cat lady with issues, a Wookiee who could use some serious de-lousing, a Twi'lek teenager who delighted in pranking everyone, an astromech droid that was obsessed with finding things to fix - and now a homicidal maniac of an assassin droid. Oh, and Bastila, who was always _Bastila_. HK-47 whirred and broke into his train of thought.

"Understanding: Ah, that is thoughtful of you, Master. I do so like to do a proper job of things. I am looking forward to killing something for you soon, Master!"

He quickly ordered HK-47 to shut down for the night.

* * *

"I have another announcement to make," he said to Bastila as she took the pilot's seat to commence her shift at the controls.

"You already made your point, and I want - I, ah... I want to say.. thank you." She flushed to the tips of her ears. Didn't he understand how embarrassing this was for her?

The Jedi didn't seem to notice her embarrassment, or pretended not to notice if he had. "I'm glad you sorted things out, but you're not letting me make my announcement."

Fine. Humour him, Bastila thought to herself. She leaned back in the seat and looked at her co-pilot much the same way a governess would have her charge. "It's not about my skin again, is it?"

"No, your Royalness. My eyes detect no _downward_ revision in the standard of your beauty."

Bastila opened her mouth to make a retort, but the words died on her tongue when she realized that a compliment had been buried in that last statement. Or was she reading too much into it? Then she berated herself for having even read into the statement to begin with. Focus! she told herself, sharply.

"You are a very sweet talker. That is _not_ a good thing for a Jedi to be."

"A Jedi should always be honest?"

"Precisely. You are learning."

"My sincerest apologies. Might I correct the error? My eyes detect only an _upward_ revision in their estimate of your beauty. And I _still_ have an announcement to make." She didn't look too bad with a tan, he thought. Evidently she had taken his suggestion about borrowing some of Mission's skin cream to heart, or she'd have been Zeltron-pink, likely worse, after all the 'running about' in the sun they had done today.

Bastila rolled her eyes - if he was in one of his playful moods again, there was little hope of stonewalling him: he'd continue to pick at whatever wall she threw up until he found a chink somewhere, and then he'd poke at it until she caved and smiled - which was what usually made the teasing and flirting stop - or until the serendipitous intervention of an unwitting third party abrupted proceedings. Juhani and Mission were fast asleep in their bunks, and if the sonorous reverberations coming from the men's cabin were anything to go by, the chances of one of the males turning up were slim indeed.

"You're never going to give up, are you?"

The Jedi flashed her his trademark grin, and shrugged. "On you, Princess? Never."

"Fine, fine. Let's hear it. This 'announcement'. Whatever it is."

"It has occurred to me, on reflection, that Griff Vao can be regarded as a test of my moral conviction. A Jedi might conceivably fall to the Dark Side from the simple desire to smack the snot out of him."

Tempted as she was to agree, Bastila reminded herself that the Dark Side was no triviality, especially not for him. "Don't think that just because you've decided to show charity to that rascal, it's put you out of the woods," Bastila warned.

"True," she heard the Jedi in the co-pilot's seat say. "But the presence of snot remaining in Griff Vao is a reliable indicator that I am - for now - not on the path to the Dark Side."

"I suppose it is. But that is no reason to be complacent."

"I know that." He was sitting up now, leaning against the low partition between their seats. His tone became serious. "Bastila, if ever I were to start going Dark, would you save me?"

Her fingers stopped their dance across the astrochart. "I... I don't know - I'd try, I guess." Her heart began to pound. Were his memories returning? Was this a portent of something to come? Had she - had the Council - made a grave miscalculation?

She needn't have worried.

"I just wanted to tell you that if you were ever in danger of... being lost, that I would do my _utmost_ to save you... _even if it meant giving my life_." He got up and crossed over to the cockpit door. "Because I _**care**_ for you, Bastila."

The door clicked shut, and Bastila was left alone, her mind afire.


	3. Chapter 3

"...and I have Pazaak! Pay up, boys - that's another fifteen you owe me, flyboy - and the Jedi owes me fifteen too." The flickering flames of the campfire illuminated the grin on Canderous' face. Luck was certainly on his side tonight!

Carth tossed over the last of his credichips, and stood. "I think it's time I turned in. Getting late. See you two in the morning." As he walked away from the campfire towards the _Ebon Hawk_, Canderous called after him.

"Oi! Republico! You lost **everything**! Old habits die hard, eh?"

The Jedi looked at the retreating figure and earnestly hoped that the private discussion he had had with Carth during the last hyperspace jump from Tatooine had borne fruit. It had been difficult enough to make Carth see that the vitriol and animosity which he harboured would only hurt him in the long run. Obtaining his assent to a plan which would pave the way to a lasting future peace between Mandalorian and Republic officer had been exponentially more difficult.

Carth stopped at the ramp of the _Ebon Hawk_. For a moment, his back became a little more rigid, and the Jedi held his breath. _No_, Carth - it isn't worth it - remember our agreement, he silently urged, hoping that Carth would not take the proffered bait and recommence hostilities with the Mandalorian. Refusing to be drawn was a decision that Carth would have to make independently. Slaying the inner demons which continued to plague him was a battle that Carth needed to fight and win himself. He could offer support and encouragement - but certainly not 'stack the decks', as Mission phrased it, by using force. Or the Force, for that matter.

Canderous' gaze was likewise fixed solidly on Carth. He's waiting, thought the Jedi. He wants to see what Carth will do. Just as I knew he would.

Over at the ramp, Carth fought down the bitter rage and resentment that was welling up inside of him. It was difficult - _so difficult _- all those years of incessant war, the suffering, the unprecedented desolation, the cries of the wounded, **Telos**, his _wife_... _Dustil_...

With a supreme effort, Carth willed himself to confront the anger and hatred which boiled up all too readily inside of him ever since Telos. An officer was only as good as his word, and he had given the Jedi his word. I am _not_ Saul Karath, Carth reminded himself. He shut his eyes and took a deep, slow breath.

"Bit early for that conclusion, Canderous. I'm up for another game tomorrow if you are. _Higher _stakes, even, if you like. Goodnight."

The Jedi let out the breath he had been holding in a long, soft exhalation. Canderous was staring at the now-empty ramp with puzzlement and suspicion in his eyes.

"Oi, Jedi - you hear that? Flyboy wants _another_ game...! Higher stakes? Can't lose enough, can he? Betcha he doesn't mean it. Gonna be Republic Senate rules from here on out..." Canderous finished the last of the ale which he had brought from Tatooine, and swept his winnings into the empty glass.

"Tastes like bloody piss-water." Canderous spat to the side, stood and stretched. "You playing again tomorrow, Jedi?"

"I suppose so," the Jedi said. "How shall we up the stakes this time?" He put out the campfire and strolled casually towards the _Ebon Hawk_, the Mandalorian beside him.

"Up the stakes? I'm for it, but can you two really afford to lose any more? You saw how I cleaned you both out tonight!"

The Jedi shrugged. "Yeah, I guess we lost pretty bad. Doesn't matter, though. We'll play for twenty a hand tomorrow."

Canderous stopped at the bottom of the ramp. "Look - no insult meant, but _seriously_? The way you two play, I'm going to end up being the **only** man amongst us with any credits at all. And I sure as _kark_ am not one for charity, so if you think you're gonna be getting handouts from me in future, you've got another think coming."

Turning, the Jedi flashed Canderous his trademark grin. "No worries, mate. A deal's a deal. Twenty a hand tomorrow it is. Pazaak's a bit like life and war, anyway. You never know when the tide might turn. Goodnight, old man."

The Mandalorian scratched the back of his neck and spat. These Republicos were _weirdos_, guaranteed. He'd never met people so keen to lose good credits for no reason at all. But then he was never one to look a gift rancor in the mouth: if another high-stakes game was what they wanted, it was what they'd get.

* * *

Mission sniggered to herself as she put the finishing touches on her latest creation. Bastila and Juhani were staying in the Enclave again tonight, just like the night before. The guys were presently outside playing at camping with that stupid fire of theirs and their high-stakes Pazaak game. Zaalbar had complained that the _Ebon Hawk _was claustrophobic: doubtless he was roaming around the plains of Dantooine, doing whatever it is Wookiees who feel the call of the wild do. Probably hunting something, Mission thought. She rather hoped it would be lots of small and edible 'somethings', as opposed to one of those _horrid_ kath hounds: a tender meat stew with lots of tubers and mushrooms - did Zaalbar know how to pick mushrooms? - wouldn't go amiss.

At any rate, the T3 unit was busy fixing whatever it was fixing, and that crazy blaster-toting droid had been ordered to shut down until further notice. "Nobody's gonna see _this_ Mission," the Twi'lek teenager muttered to herself.

She cast a critical eye over her new toy. A hidden camera. This would go nicely on the head of the shower unit in the 'fresher. If she angled it _just _right, she should be able to get some good captures of people grooming themselves. Of course, this wasn't really an invasion of anyone's privacy, because, like, it wasn't as if the camera were pointed at the **shower stall**, which would be totally, like, wrong - besides, this was just _basic_ personal grooming that was going to be observed, nothing special. Right? Mission nodded approvingly at the remote camera assembly before her, and commended herself for the fine workmanship displayed in its creation.

All that talk about it being non-traditional for Wookiees to bathe? Like, _totally_ get real...! Zaalbar probably didn't bathe because he didn't know how to get himself looking presentable again _afterwards_. He hadn't been as lucky as she had - she, at least, had Griff, who had done right by her. Taught her to look after herself. Things like the importance of brushing one's teeth, looking good, picking locks, slicing security systems...something about "using protection" which he never explained satisfactorily but which she would probably understand at some point - yeah, well so it was an unorthodox upbringing, but hey! Whoever said that family had to be _perfect_, huh?

So, like - Zaalbar is family, right? And you _always_ stand by family, right? Right. Mission congratulated herself for her right-thinking attitude. Zaalbar is like family. Kinda like a smelly, retard cousin with, like, a _total_ image crisis but **family** nonetheless. And if Zaalbar didn't know how to groom himself - poor pookie! - then Mission would give him a demonstrative lesson. With real-life models.

Mission congratulated herself again, this time for her spectacular reasoning skills.

* * *

"_I'm_ out of credits, and so are _you_. Just so we're clear on this - that man is a **certified** pain in the ass and if I have to swallow _one more kriffing jibe_ from him about... about - you know, losing, politics, the Republic - anything! I... I don't know if I'll be able to take much more of this _shit_, man." Carth pinched the bridge of his nose and silently counted to ten.

The Jedi nodded. "I know. His ego _is _frustrating. And you know - we _both_ knew - that he would say things calculated to wind you up. But you _haven't_ given him the reaction he's looking for, and that _confuses_ him. He's also getting complacent with his play, as I'm sure you've noticed."

Carth harrumphed and poked at the campfire, before adding more wood to it. "He's only an average Pazaak player, if you ask me. Just bloody _thinks_ he's the bees' knees."

"True. And now he's getting _careless_ too, because he _thinks_ he's unbeatable. He doesn't know we haven't been playing seriously."

"How'd you know he'd start getting complacent?"

"Frankly? I can't explain how. I just did. He - you could say he fits the type, if you know what I mean."

Carth nodded. "Get one of them in every garrison, you do." He stared into the dwindling flames morosely. "What are we going to offer for a wager tomorrow?"

"We make him an offer he _can't_ refuse," stated the Jedi simply. "We wager the _Ebon Hawk_."

"You're kriffing **insane**, even for a Jedi," Carth blurted. "Then again, who in their right mind enters a high-stakes wager against a **Jedi**?"

"Canderous Ordo."

"You're going to use the Force, aren't you?"

"Yep. And you are going to hit him with _everything_ you've got."

Carth evaluated the state of their campfire and decided that it needed more oxygen. "The Princess is _not_ going to approve at all."

"She sure as hell _isn't_ going to approve."

"I foresee another long sermon in your future." Carth grinned, and knelt to blow gently at the embers of their fire. Bastila, in his opinion, was a regular _nag_. What his friend saw in her, he couldn't fathom.

The Jedi winced. "So do I. Say, do you think Republic insurance policy covers aural damage sustained from exposure to feminine histrionics conducted at high amplitude?"

Carth inhaled ash.

* * *

Hyperspace again. Goodbye Dantooine, hello Kashyyyk. **Definitely** a _vast_ improvement over Tatooine, thought the Jedi. What were those trees called, again? Wroshyr, that was it. Funny. For some reason, he was _certain_ that he'd stopped by Kashyyyk at least once before - but the Republic had never sent him there. As a matter of fact, he was absolutely convinced, too, that he _had_ visited Tatooine, as well - but try as he might, he just could not remember _when_, or under _what_ circumstances. Come to think of it, he seemed to be missing rather _a lot_ of his memories - his childhood, what Deralia was like, even who his _parents and family_ were.

Maybe he should get his head checked the next time they went back to Dantooine? Perhaps he had sustained some damage from the events on the _Endar Spire_, or from crash-landing on Taris? If so, best to get it sorted out before he started seeing pink banthas everywhere. Master Vandar seemed the friendly and helpful sort - perhaps he'd be able to diagnose the problem.

The Jedi leaned back in the pilot's seat and chewed thoughtfully on a stem of grass he had plucked in Dantooine. The cockpit door opened and he felt a familiar presence behind him.

"**What** did you do to Canderous while Juhani and I were gone? He's _sulking_!" The Jedi discreetly disposed of the stem of grass and swivelled around to face Bastila. She had her arms crossed, and wore a look of mild consternation.

"Nothing. He just lost badly at Pazaak, Princess."

"You lot played **Pazaak** while - I don't believe my ears - you're a _Jedi_! Avarice is a path to the Dark Side!" Shock and displeasure were writ across Bastila's face.

"Would you believe me if I told you there were _very good reasons_ why, apart from my desire to buy you flowers?"

Bastila crossed over to the co-pilot's seat and sat down. Flowers, indeed...! "_This_ had better be good," she said. "I'm listening."

"Carth and Canderous bickering does nothing for the general morale, and if allowed to continue, it would prove detrimental to the successful performance of our mission. Canderous simply doesn't respect Carth, because he doesn't respect the Republic, and Carth wears its uniform. He also knows that Carth has some very deep personal hurts, and he's not above rubbing salt into the proverbial wound. Unless and until he starts viewing Carth in a different light, he's _not_ going to stop needling Carth, and their quarrels are only going to get _worse_."

"I do not see what _any_ of this has to do with Pazaak," said Bastila impatiently.

"Lots, actually. Carth needs to learn to ignore taunts, jibes, and generally to conquer his personal demons before he can heal and move on. Canderous needs to see that true honour doesn't lie in winning every fight. You remember what he said about the way the Mandalorians treated defeated Republic worlds?"

Bastila nodded. "They _decimated _whole cities. **Senseless** slaughter of civilians. The Cathar had it particularly bad."

"Exactly. _That_ happened because the Mandalorians think _anyone_ they defeat on the field of battle deserves nothing more than to be trampled underfoot. Canderous is no exception. He had no compunction bankrupting us _whatsoever_ - "

Bastila cut in. "**Bankrupted**! You told me you only played one game!"

"I didn't say that. We had three games, actually," he confessed. "Carth and I allowed Canderous to clean us out by the second round. I ...knew that Canderous wouldn't be able to resist doing so if he had the upper hand, and that he would jibe Carth mercilessly as long as he did. But that would give Carth an opportunity to face his inner demons. Moreover," the Jedi hastily added, as Bastila's eyebrows started to knit themselves together, "I needed to make Canderous see the value of mercy. Carth and I stopped once we won back every credit that we lost. _We didn't take a single credit over_. Canderous now has food for thought."

The frown that had worked itself into Bastila's face started to disappear. "Well, I _never_...! That was... rather clever of you."

"Thank you. Princesses deserve _only_ the best."

Bastila was about to make a sharp retort when a sudden thought hit her. "Wait. You said you were out of credits by the end of the _second_ game - what in the galaxy did you wager in the **third**!"

If ever there were an opportune time to change subject, it would be now, said a little voice in the Jedi's mind. He concurred. "You have such _lovely_ hair, Princess. Why don't you wear it down more often? I like the way it frames your face."

In Bastila's head, Logic coughed politely and murmured that perhaps some questions were best left unanswered. Curiosity kneed Logic in the groin, and flashed a conspiratorial wink. Bastila caved.

"_Don't_ change the subject! _What_ did you wager?"

"Will you still let me buy you flowers if I tell you?" Stall for time, Juhani should be here any minute now, her shift at the controls is about to start. The Jedi smiled in what he hoped was a debonair fashion at the incredulous Human female who occupied his immediate field of vision.

"I'm **not** in the mood for games - _what did you wager_?"

"I missed you _lots_ while we were on Dantooine. Did you know I went to the Enclave to look for you?"

A look of surprise crossed Bastila's face. "You did? I'm sorry, I didn't kn - hey! Stop that. You _didn't_ wager what I think you did, did you?"

Uh oh. Juhani, where in the Force are you? "No, I did not wager my lightsaber. I wanted to go for a walk with you."

"I wasn't thinking of your equipment."

"Thank the Force for that! Much as I like you, it's still a little early for you to be thinking about my... _lightsaber_." The Jedi earnestly hoped that Juhani would deign to manifest herself within the next sixty seconds.

Bastila groaned, leaned forward and bumped her head repeatedly on the low partition.

"That is **beyond puerile**, and well you know it," she chided.

"I have to get your attention _somehow_," countered the Jedi. "And you only **ever** pay me any attention if you think I'm in danger of going Dark, or being naughty. One would think you _liked_ scoundrels, or that there weren't _enough_ scoundrels in your life."

"I happen to like nice men." Bastila bumped her forehead against the low partition again. "I mean - what - I'm a _Jedi_...!"

"I'm a nice man."

"Prove it."

"I _will _buy you flowers."

"You _will_ tell me _what you wagered_."

Bugger, thought the Jedi. He craned his neck to peer through the window in the cockpit door, hoping that Juhani was somewhere in the vicinity of the cockpit. No such luck.

"There was _no way_ Canderous could have won. Between you and I? He played like a half-drunken Rodian."

"I'm _waiting_," warned Bastila.

"And Carth's an absolutely **killer** player. I wonder - is that what they all used to get up to in the officers' mess?" He thought he heard the soft, steady footfall of Juhani echoing down the corridor. Hurry up, old girl...!

"I am only going to ask **one more time**: _what did you wager_!"

Almost on cue, the cockpit door opened, admitting Juhani. "I am so sorry for the lateness. I was in the 'fresher and I thought there was a buzzing that I heard, but where it came from I was not able to find out. Do you think we missed one of the gizka?"

"Ah, Juhani - what a pleasure! No trouble at all. In fact, you arrived just in time. Bastila was just getting worried about the _Ebon Hawk_, but I'm sure you'll be able to put her mind at rest. After all, I've twice the claim to it that anyone has - '_finders_ keepers, _losers_ weepers' - you know? Goodnight, ladies. Princess? Charmed, as always." Quickly making his exit before Bastila could pounce on him, the Jedi headed straight for the men's cabin.

Juhani turned to Bastila, who had forsaken bumping her forehead against the low partition in favour of adopting a semi-recumbent position across the control display.

"Are you all good? You look to be pale, Bastila."

"It is nothing," groaned Bastila weakly. The _Ebon Hawk_! He'd wagered the _Ebon Hawk_! He was absolutely stark staring **mad**. She felt as if the cockpit were spinning about her.

Peering over the low partition, Juhani surveyed Bastila's semi-prone form critically. "I am not so sure. Did you eat something poor?"

"No, my stomach is all right, I think... I think I should go and lie down." Bastila made to stand, but her legs refused to co-operate. She settled for staring blankly out of the viewport.

Concerned, Juhani stood and went to her fellow Jedi's side. She put her hand on Bastila's forehead and frowned. Bastila's temperature felt normal.

"You are right. There is nothing wrong with you that I can feel. Did he upset you? What did he say?"

"They played Pazaak with Canderous while we were at the Enclave. They won."

Juhani frowned. "Pazaak? They? Carth and our friend there? With Canderous, you are saying? Typical males." She was not sure she understood why this would upset Bastila so much. After all, men were known to do strange things if left to their own devices.

Bastila turned her head and looked Juhani squarely in the eye.

"He wagered the _Ebon Hawk_, Juhani."

It was a very perplexed Cathar Jedi that greeted Carth when he arrived to take over the controls five hours later.


	4. Chapter 4

Moving slowly so as not to wake the others, Bastila tiptoed to the cabin door and pressed a flat switch on the wall. The door unlocked and slid open with a hiss. As she stepped out of the cabin, the young Jedi ventured a look over her shoulder and breathed a silent thanks to the Force that Juhani and Mission had not been unduly roused from their slumber. Would T3 be able to do anything about the doors on the _Ebon Hawk_? The hissing noises they made were most irritating. She would speak to the droid later. Allowing herself a moment's pause on her way to the pantry, Bastila indulged in a most unladylike stretch and yawn - and then quickly reassumed her customary primness, on the off chance that one of the crew might actually be awake and about the ship.

Rubbing her eyes, she stepped into the pantry and stopped short. The pantry's lone occupant raised his head, looked at her and nodded a greeting.

"Morning, Princess," the amnesiac former Sith Lord murmured, before resuming his former posture - slouched over the table, head resting on his arms.

A delicately arched eyebrow went up on Bastila's face. "Didn't sleep well?"

"Couldn't."

Reaching down a good-sized muja fruit, Bastila seated herself across from the Jedi and commenced peeling it. "Let me guess. Carth and Canderous - they snore too loudly?"

"Not that."

"Pillow too hard?"

A shake of the head.

Having peeled the muja fruit, Bastila proceeded to quarter it. "Too soft, then?"

"No."

She put down the fruit knife and frowned. Strange. Usually Revan's chock-full of ridiculous things to say. Now he's nearly monosyllabic. Forgetting about the quartered fruit, Bastila wiped her hands on a clean rag and leaned over the table a little. "Hey... you.. you're clearly upset about something - do you... want to talk... about it?"

The Jedi lifted his head and frowned. There were circles around his eyes, which were showing pink around their rims. "I... maybe. It doesn't make sense to me."

"What doesn't make sense?"

Wearily, the Jedi sat up and made as if to run a hand through his hair, before changing his mind and slouching, his hands worrying at his forehead.

"**Me**. _I _don't make sense to me at all. I... my life, it's like... I don't know. How do I put it? There are a whole _bunch_ of things for which I _ought_ to have explanations - but I _don't_. There are things I _know_ I ought to remember, because the end-product is _there_, but ... I don't remember _how_ they got there - if that makes any kind of sense at all?" He let out a sigh. "And it really does bother me. Because - I don't know, I may be mentally damaged or something, after all - the _Endar Spire_ did take a huge beating, maybe this is what the medics used to call post-traumatic stress disorder or whatever, or maybe this is a sort of amnesia brought about by concussion or lack of oxygen or something... we crashed in a pod on Taris, remember? ... it's all so frustrating, so disorienting."

Oh. Oh, no. Very bad. Memories. Crap - I hope he's not remembering stuff he shouldn't be - Bastila chewed her lip anxiously as she tried to double-guess Revan, without giving herself away.

"What do you mean?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Jedi shut his eyes and spoke slowly.

"Flying this ship, for example. I know which controls are for what, and even how a hyperdrive works - I even have a pilot's licence - but for the life of me, I _can't _remember ever having taken a single piloting class. That's example number one. Number two - Carth asked me a few questions about my family recently. Off the top of my head, I told him some stuff, but - but when I started trying to recall the specifics, I drew a complete blank. I barely remember what my parents looked like, or the things I did as I was growing up - and I don't remember who my primary caregiver was. It's weird."

Suddenly his eyes flew open. "My goodness. Bastila...! I'm not going to turn into a _cabbage_, am I!"

The wave of anxiety travelling through their Force bond was nearly palpable. Bastila winced in spite of herself. "Do you mean... you absolutely _cannot_ remember anything from your childhood?"

The Jedi shook his head. "I'm not utterly devoid of such memories. It's the specifics, the details, that I can't remember. I told you I came from Deralia, right? When Carth asked me to describe Deralia, I could. Sort of. But it felt as if I were describing a holo I had seen - not an actual _place_, if you get my meaning. That got me thinking... about what my family home was like, whether it was in the city, or... the outskirts... and I found I couldn't **remember**. Then I started going 'chapter by chapter', as people say. I knew I went to school as a child - but I couldn't remember _where_. Or how I did in school. I remember having had many classmates, and being bullied... but no _names_. I remember having had a series of pet animals, as a child - but what species? A _complete_ blank. Princess, it worries me - do you think Master Vandar would be able to... to diagnose me? I must have taken a larger bump on the head when we crashed than I thought..! And I don't want to turn into a cabbage...!"

So the Council had given Revan some created memories, but not ones that would stand up to very close scrutiny, thought Bastila. Perhaps... perhaps if we had had the luxury of time, a more thorough job could have been done. But there hadn't been that luxury, and the memories that Revan carried now had been stitched together at very short notice by a group of Jedi Masters whose talents lay more in the arena of lightsabering and Force powers than in imagination.

Suddenly, Bastila felt very, _very_ sorry for the amnesiac former Sith Lord who was now a fellow Jedi and... sort-of friend. Her expression softened, and she gingerly reached across to touch his arm.

"You're _not_ going to turn into a cabbage, silly. I... I think it's probably recent events... there's just been so muc, you know? Finding out you could touch the Force? Training as a Jedi? And now... all this travel, and, you know - that crash on Taris - Carth said you were quite badly bruised when he pulled you out, it could be concussion... but I wouldn't worry about it. You make _far too much sense_ to be going... cabbage-y. And you're too intelligent to be a cabbage." She smiled tentatively. That was about as much comfort as she could offer him without compromising the secret she had been sworn to keep.

A barely audible sigh escaped the Jedi's lips. The Princess had a point. It had been a very hectic two months since the storming of the _Endar Spire_, and there were still times he found himself wondering if all that had happened - the crash, discovering his latent Force affinity, training at the Enclave on Dantooine, falling for Bastila - was nothing more than a dream from which he would soon awake. It was a lot to take in, for anyone. Much less an ordinary Republic soldier with humble origins, such as he. Maybe he was worrying too much. Perhaps all that was needed was time - time to get used to his new situation, and for the effects of crash-landing on Taris to pass. The Jedi sat up and found himself looking into Bastila's concerned eyes. He gazed earnestly into them.

"Thank you for listening, Princess." He placed his hand over hers before she could withdraw it, and gave a gentle squeeze. "It means a lot to me."

Bastila's cheeks burned bright red.

* * *

"How long more until we're within the Wookiee system?" chirped Mission, her lekku twitching excitedly. She'd never been off Taris before - that she could remember - and now here she was, going places! What was this planet called again? Kashyyyk, yeah. Crazy Wooks. What was with all the crazy consonants, huh? Oh, and double vowels too. '_Zaalbar_' - what a crazy name. She thought she'd heard him mumble a few more names before - when she'd gone into the cargo hold to look for parts and found him napping. 'Freyyr', and 'Roorwoor' or something like that. Like, hello? _Simplify_ things, people? Poor kidlets have to learn to spell, yeah? I mean, Twi'lek-style names are _so_ much more user-friendly! Mission's lekku twitched in a self-satisfied manner.

"Just over two standard hours, lil' punk," boomed Canderous. He had his feet up on the console display unit and was scratching at the stubble covering his chin and throat. His hand strayed to his hair, which had patches in it where large chunks had been cut out without regard to the overall presentation. An unreadable expression flashed briefly across his face.

"_Two hours_! Oh, man - I'm going to go _nuts_ - there isn't anything to do on this thing..!"

Canderous grunted. "You want something to do? I'll give you something to do. I need a shave, and that's what I'm gonna get now. So you stay here and watch the controls. Easy as pie 'cos we're on auto. Just make sure you don't fiddle with any buttons and gimme a shout when we're exiting hyperspace." He stood, and brushed his jacket. A shower of crumbs and a muja core fell to the cockpit floor. The Twi'lek girl made an expression of disgust.

"Oh, and clean up the mess before the Jedi Princess sees it. You might want to give the display screen a wipe, too." Smirking, Canderous sauntered out of the cockpit, taking care to squish the muja core in the process. Mission glared at his retreating back and flipped him the birdie.

There would be payback. She would see to that.

The Jedi leaned back against the wall in the medbay, resting. A soggy pile of kolto-soaked bandages on the floor were the only visible reminders of the day's run-ins with the local fauna. Kashyyyk was, in the Jedi's opinion, about as full of malicious wildlife as any planet could get without becoming unfit for habitation. And Dantooine thought it had a _problem_ with kinrath and kath hounds? They hadn't seen the forest kinrath _here_. Or the strange, flying things that had come swooping down - claws bared, jaws snapping at every turn. He looked at his left hand and felt along the curve of his left shoulder. The kolto had done its work: healthy, intact skin replaced the bleeding wounds caused by fangs and claws, with only thin white lines showing where the gashes once had been.

He felt, more than heard, her approach and looked up just as the medbay door slid open.

"You should have taken me with you."

"I missed you too, Princess," said the Jedi. In the doorway, Bastila tsk-ed and rolled her eyes. The medbay door slid shut noiselessly behind her as she entered. The Jedi's eyebrows went up. "Did you hear that?"

"I heard nothing."

"_Exactly_! The door. It's gone all quiet now."

Bastila looked over her shoulder as she bent to pick up the pile of used bandages. "Oh, the door. I spoke to the little T3 unit. Asked if he could perhaps improve them. Clearly the droid takes instruction well." She dangled the dripping mess of bandages inches from the Jedi's face. "_This_ is what happens when I don't go out with you."

The Jedi looked straight past the bandages into Bastila's eyes. "Princess, it would be an _honour_ to go out with you."

Disbelief, embarrassment and annoyance passed in quick succession across Bastila's face. "You _know_ that's not what I meant! Next time you decide to go gallivanting, _I'm_ coming along." She gave the bandages a little shake to emphasise her point, before tossing them in the incinerator. Behind her, the Jedi flexed his arms and stretched. Satisfied that his gashes had healed sufficiently to allow unrestricted movement, he settled into a more comfortable position to watch Bastila busying herself with tidying up his mess. He concluded that the rear view of Bastila was as pleasant as the front.

"How's Mission?"

"What did you expect? Juhani and I had to _sedate_ her - next time, please think twice about taking her along with you, _especially_ if it involves Wookiee family politics," said Bastila curtly.

"I did! I tried to convince her to come back here, but she wouldn't have any of it - just ask Zaal - bugger."

Bastila turned to face the Jedi, her arms crossed. "Well, you could have _marched_ her right back! She's fourteen! You're a _trained_ Jedi! How much of a fight could she possibly put up?"

"Oh, Princess...! Your words hurt me." Placing a hand over his heart, the Jedi adopted a pained expression and continued, "What do you think I am - some kind of Dark... Jedi... Sith Lord?"

His mouth was moving and words were pouring out, but Bastila did not hear any of them. A Dark Jedi. A _Sith Lord_. He had spoken in jest, and come _so close_ to the truth. She closed her eyes and fought down the bitter taste of bile that had worked its way up from her gut, fought for the mastery over her emotions, and gained the upper hand - but not soon enough. Revan's hands were cupping her face now, and she dimly heard him calling her name. Her eyes fluttered open.

"I am _so_ sorry, Bastila..! Bad joke. Not funny. No more bad Sith jokes." The Jedi peered searchingly at Bastila's upturned face. She tried not to meet his gaze.

"It's... nothing. I - I - you, you... just don't know... what the Dark Side is - what it _does_ to people." Actually, that's only half true, thought Bastila. _You_ above all Jedi should know what it is to fall. _You_ walked the dark paths, chose the dark ways, Revan. Inside of _you_, the knowledge slumbers, imprisoned - for the time. But what if one day it should wake? What if one day you should rediscover _yourself_? Will you betray us all again?

"I _promise_ I won't joke about the Sith anymore, Bastila. Not if it upsets you so. I know you think I don't take the threat seriously - but in fact, I _do_. And it frightens me as much as it does you - or any of the Masters... I guess laughing at it is... well, it's just my way of... of not letting it intimidate me." His hands slipped to her shoulders. "You _shouldn't_ let it, either."

He's right, chided a small voice in Bastila's head. Fear is a path to the Dark Side as much as active dabbling in the forbidden Sith lore is. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate - hate leads to suffering. You know that. She nodded mutely in reply.

For a moment, the Jedi thought of taking Bastila into his arms and giving her a hug, but the more diplomatic nodes of his brain disagreed and pointed out that hugging the Princess under present circumstances would be a course of action doomed to culminate in a high-velocity meeting between her knee and his groin. Ow. Not good. He compromised, and gently rested his forehead on hers for a second. Then he summoned his tunic and started putting it on.

"I... I think I'd better... go... now," said Bastila awkwardly, backing towards the medbay door. She could feel her ears turning red - they had been so close! Too close. And there had been... prolonged contact, his hands had been on her face, and he had been only half dressed and - this was _weird_. It hadn't felt like a violation of her personal space. Oh, **no**.

The Jedi watched Bastila's uncharacteristically crablike movements with a dawning sense of understanding. He didn't think he was reading too much into them, especially as she was only inches away from the door and was still looking in his direction. Plus, her hand was on the correct switch - but she hadn't activated it.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled disarmingly. "Princess?"

Bastila's eyes widened. "What?"

"Would you like to go out with me tomorrow?"

Her brain, Bastila would later swear, had it in for her. It always chose the worst possible moments to spark out or short-circuit. Nothing else would account for the utterly shameless - no, senseless - reply that she made.

"Yes - um, where?" Duh.

"The Shadowlands - nice and dark and romantic. Just the two of us. HK-47 will act as your chaperone, so don't worry." The Jedi grinned.

Deciding that she had best get out of the medbay before she disgraced herself entirely, Bastila mumbled a barely-audible reply and fled in a swirl of brown tabards.

He couldn't resist calling out after her. "It's our first date, so don't forget...!"

* * *

"What the grife were you _thinking_, mate?"

"I'm with the Republico on this - I thought we were clear, Jedi - _no more stragglers_!"

The Jedi looked up from studying the rough map of the Shadowlands before him. "Have you seen this map? No? Well, I suggest you look. This place" - he jabbed a finger at the map - "is a veritable _maze_. Hardly _any_ sunlight filters down, so it's perpetually dim. Remember that rancor on Taris, Carth? My contact tells me that there's stuff down there that's _worse than rancors by far_. And, by the way, there's a bunch of Czerka slavers and what-have-yous mucking about in the Shadowlands too. Chances are that they've mined half the regular footpaths by now. So if someone who knows the good roads, the safe ones, is willing to do me a favour in exchange for transportation..." The Jedi trailed off.

Carth fidgeted with the ammunition clips at his belt. "All right, all right - you have a point. I - just promise me we're _not_ going to travel around the galaxy picking up one sentient after another."

"He'd better be able to hold his own in a firefight," grumbled Canderous. "We already got one Republico on board - we don't need another deadweight." Fighting words those might be - but, the Jedi noted, they lacked any real enthusiasm or conviction. Keep it up, Carth. Old Mando blockhead here is starting to tire of niggling you.

Carth cleared his throat. "So - ah. You... gonna tell us who the kriff this chap is? Your... _contact_?"

"He's a Jedi. _Was_, rather," said Bastila bluntly. She stopped fiddling with her lightsaber and put it down on the workbench. "Bindo's lived in the Shadowlands a good long while. Mind you, he didn't 'go Dark' like the rest - though that _hardly_ means he's a paragon of virtue."

Canderous and Carth exchanged glances. "Meaning what - he drinks? Snorts spice? _Tells dirty jokes_ involving Jedi Masters and Apprentices?" The Republic officer sniggered at the Mandalorian's coarse sense of humour. Bastila did her best to look affronted.

"Nah. I think the Princess has... _other stuff_... in mind." Carth winked at his former colleague. "Let's see. Jedi generally _don't_ marry, do they? So... I'm guessing here. This one _did_?"

Over at the workbench, Bastila's eyes narrowed. "This is no laughing matter! Attachments are _dangerous_ to Jedi!"

"Ooh," drawled Canderous. "Touched a nerve there, flyboy. So this one married. And he's not a 'paragon of virtue' - _who the kark_ taught you to talk like that! - so... you thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Republico?"

"I can't _believe_ you're actually upset that a Jedi had se-"

"Leave her alone, guys," cut in the Jedi. "It's _not_ what you think."

"_Whatever_." Barely restraining his mirth, Canderous elbowed Carth out of the way as he made for the starboard 'fresher. Carth followed him out, but not before jiggling his eyebrows in Bastila's general direction and giving his former colleague a knowing wink.

"Attachment is _dangerous_," repeated Bastila, as soon as Carth had gone. "It clouds perception. Makes good people make bad decisions. We - we're _Jedi_. We can't _have_ attachments." The words sounded hollow, even to her. She half wondered whether she even _knew_ what she was talking about.

"I don't think that conclusion _necessarily_ follows, actually." Choosing his words carefully, the Jedi continued. "It's like... Master Kavar and his clothes, for example."

Bastila wrinkled her nose. This was a very odd analogy. She wasn't sure where Revan was going with this.

"Have you noticed how _many_ layers of clothes the man wears? Clearly he loves his clothes. Has some sort of... _attachment_ to them, arguably..."

"He has _rheumatism_, for crying out loud...!"

"Doesn't change anything. He loves his clothes, he needs them - to some degree - but what if he were _forced_ to choose between going Dark and keeping his clothes on, or staying in the Light and being a nudist - what if he chose his clothes over principles? What would that leave him with?"

A mental image of a half-naked Master Kavar floated up unbidden in Bastila's mind. **Gross**. She quickly blocked it out. "Not very much... nothing, really. Nothing that _matters_."

The Jedi moved over to stand in front of Bastila. "_Precisely_. _That's_ what attachment is, isn't it? It's _not_ loving somebody. It's not marrying somebody. It's not _having kids_. It's allowing your interests - whatever they are - to take over to the extent where, if something happens and you _have_ to make a moral choice, you let _those_ interests _determine_ your decisions... until there's nothing left of you. _That_ is the issue here. Not whether or not said attachments ought to _exist_."

Silence.

"You... really... gave this a _lot_ of thought, didn't you?" queried Bastila softly, her eyes fixed on the toe of her boot.

"I did."

"Why?" She regretted the question immediately, because she knew what the answer would be.

"Because I am a Jedi who happens to think you are _lovely_. And because I want to buy _you_ flowers, and embarrass myself writing terrible poetry _for_ you. Because I would _very much_ like to go out with you."

"You believe love cannot lead to the Dark Side."

"Love in its _purest_ is the very _antithesis_ of the Dark Side, Bastila. How could it lead one astray?"

The words were simple, but they carried the force of a truth that frightened her.


	5. Chapter 5

Juhani examined the claws on her right hand with the air of an appraiser of fine art. She squinted, peered, moved her hand so that the light fell more squarely over it, and squinted again. Then she picked up a small file and gave the claw on her index finger a few practised strokes. Another critical examination followed. Satisfied that the claws on her right hand had been filed to perfectly symmetrical points, Juhani turned her attention to her left hand and repeated the process.

Above her head, a tiny sensor registered movement in the 'fresher and sent a signal through the aether to Mission's datapad, which responded in kind. A small hidden camera came to life on the top of the shower unit, and proceeded to record real-time evidence of one female Cathar Jedi in an advanced state of undress, giving herself a manicure. It made little buzzing noises as it did.

The Cathar's ears pricked up. _There_ it was again! Juhani frowned. _Always_ there was now that buzzing. From Dantooine the first time, no buzzing. Nice and quiet. Also quiet when to Tatooine they go, but then they return to Dantooine, and after that? The buzzing, it start. She forgot about the claws on her left hand and tried to focus on the source of the sound. There were no more gizka on the _Ebon Hawk_ - of that, Juhani was certain: she had personally ferreted out the few gizka that had managed to escape being poisoned and dealt with them herself, as a proper Cathar woman would. But always, always now - that buzzing.

Her ears twitched as she tried to pinpoint the exact source of the strange noise. So many times she had tried to find the source, but never with success had she met. Maybe try from different angle this time, Juhani thought.

Adjusting the towel around her waist so as to allow for unrestricted movement, Juhani clambered onto the little cabinet at the side of the 'fresher sink and stood slowly, being careful not to brain herself on the ceiling. Her height forced her to adopt an uncomfortable posture - hunched over, torso twisted to the side - as she listened for the low buzzing sound that she had heard so many times before. Shutting her eyes so as to concentrate better, Juhani tried to focus on the source of the sound. No luck. With an irritated hiss, Juhani prepared to descend from the cabinet top when she thought she saw a little flicker of orange light out of the corner of her eye. _What_ was _that_? She stood up as straight as she could, craning her neck to look behind the translucent frame of the shower door - and goggled.

Juhani let out a growl of disbelief. What in - this was not possi - no, that _cannot_ be right, a **camera**! Here! My goodness - by the Force it _is_ a camera! Juhani reached for the shower head and pried the offending contraption off it. In a minute, she was standing on the 'fresher floor with the miniature camera in her hands. She stared at the device. How long had this thing been there? _Who_ put it there? The **pervert**!

Juhani's fangs clicked together sharply. She would get to the bottom of this.

* * *

_[Mission!]_

"Zaalbar!" The Twi'lek girl flew down the ramp of the _Ebon Hawk_ in a blur of blue, and threw her arms around her friend. "Oh wow oh wow oh wow - by the goddess - Zaalbar...! You're **back**! I was so wor-" Mission started to cry.

_[I am all right, Mission,]_ said Zaalbar as he tried to pull his friend off him and keep her from matting his hair with her tears and snot. _[But we must go now. There is going to be a big fight here.]_

As if in corroboration of Zaalbar's assertion, shouts and blaster fire were heard approaching from the distance, where shadowy outlines of moving figures could be seen. The former Republic soldier shouted something urgently at HK-47, who was looking in the direction of the sounds with what, if he had been "a meatbag", would doubtless have been described as longing. HK-47 fired off a shot from his blaster into the mass of shadowed figures, which retreated briefly, only to surge forward again. The former Republic soldier slapped his forehead enthusiastically, shouted "That's an **order**!" at HK-47, and started pushing the Twi'lek-Wookiee agglomeration towards the ramp, an endeavour which met with little success.

Jolee Bindo made eye contact with Zaalbar. He mimed a flipping motion with his hands and jerked his head towards the _Ebon Hawk_, before boarding the ship himself.

_[Mission! We must go, now!]_ roared Zaalbar, as he lifted Mission off the ground, flung her over his shoulder and ran into the ship. Recent experience had taught him that perhaps his people were not _quite_ as level-headed as he had always believed they were. Right now, with the latest upheaval to their community's political order, he wasn't _at all_ confident in their ability to differentiate friend from foe.

"Zaalbar's right, Mission. Pull yourself together. You'll have ample time to catch up when we're in space." Bastila strode regally up the ramp into the ship, her face a mask of disapproval.

The _Ebon Hawk_ was a hive of activity in the minutes that followed the return of Zaalbar, Jolee, Bastila, HK-47 and the amnesiac former Sith Lord. Carth and Bastila ran to punch in the ignition sequences for the Ebon Hawk's engines, while Canderous and Juhani hurried to man the gun turrets in the event of an all-out confrontation. HK-47 remained close to the ramp, blaster at the ready, hoping that some meatbags might take it into their waterlogged central processors to attempt hostilities against the ship and its crew. T3-M4 beeped incessantly to the navicomputer, while Zaalbar sat resignedly by the hyperdrive engine, letting Mission make a mess of his hair with her crying. Jolee visited the 'fresher. It had been a long time since he'd had a comfortable dump.

A volley of blaster fire erupted from the dense foliage to the north of the _Ebon Hawk_. HK-47 let off a responding series of shots.

"That's **enough**, HK!" The Jedi punched a large red switch on the wall behind HK-47, causing the ramp to retract.

"Objection: Master! I was merely returning fire!"

"They weren't even shooting at _us_, HK!"

"Explanation: Pre-emptive measures, Master. '_He who strikes first, strikes hardest_.' That is my programming, Master."

The _Ebon Hawk_ lurched forwards as it slowly rose off the landing pad. As it gained altitude, the lights on its underbelly illuminated the scene on Kashyyyk: Czerka officers, mercs, and slavers running helter-skelter on the walkways, some falling to the ground or off the walkway altogether as mobs of Wookiees rampaged through the Wroshyr canopy. Trails of bowcaster and blaster fire could be seen everywhere, and the evening sky was becoming rapidly clouded over by the haze of exploding ordnance.

Glancing at the altimeter beside the red switch, the Jedi heaved a sigh of relief as he noted that the _Ebon Hawk_ was now safely out of blaster and grenade range. He sat heavily on the floor and contemplated the rust-red droid.

"HK?"

"I am ready to serve, Master."

"I want to ask you a few questions, HK."

"Sarcasm: Questions? Oh, _yippee_. I do so _love_ answering questions, Master. After all, it is my _primary_ function!"

The Jedi made a face. The droid had a very droll sense of humour - but he really wasn't in the mood for that at the present. "You've told me about the previous masters whom you can remember, HK. Do you remember who _created_ you?"

HK's central processor unit whirred. "Statement: I do not know, Master. The details do not seem to exist. Conjecture: It is possible that my memory cores have been sabotaged. However, there is also the possibility that my creator intended to keep their identity secret, and programmed me accordingly."

"Oh. By the way, what is with the 'meatbag' reference?"

"Explanation: All organics are meatbags, Master."

"Well, it's - not that _I_ mind so much, it _is_ kind of funny - but... HK, _not everyone appreciates being called a 'meatbag'_! Can't you find some other... term of... art to refer to people by?"

HK appeared to be giving this serious thought. "Hesitant Reply: Master, I am unable to find any more appropriate term to convey the _extreme_ internal slushiness of most organics. Involved Explanation: _Sentient_ organics, that is, Master. Not all organics are meatbag in status. Certain organics - plants, for example, are decidedly non-meatbaggy."

A lull in the conversation ensued as the Jedi tried to decide if the droid was being honest, or simply making fun of him. Slushiness! "Well, what about using their names? _Bastila_ has a name. So do _Juhani_, and _Jolee_, and _Carth_, and _Canderous_..." HK-47 interrupted him.

"Clarification: You refer to the stuffy meatbag, the crazy meatbag, the bald meatbag, the paranoid meatbag, and the loutish meatbag, Master?"

"Arrghh." The Jedi slapped his forehead again. This was going to be a _very_ long conversation.

* * *

Carth whistled a low tune to himself as he walked from the cockpit to the men's cabin. Canderous' shift at the controls had started, and the rest of the crew were tucked in bed, sleeping off their latest adventure. He yawned. It would be good to get some sleep. He turned into the narrow corridor going past the cargo hold, and stopped. He listened carefully for a while, then cautiously peered into the darkness of the cargo hold. A thin ray of light appeared on the floor at the far corner of the cargo hold, indicating that the pantry was occupied. Holding his breath so as to hear better, Carth thought he detected the sounds of sniffling and some muffled sobs.

Okay, that _has_ to be one of the women - only females cry like that, he reasoned. Juhani? Not the crying type. Bit too... psycho for that. Mission? All cried out, and besides, Zaalbar's back. His eyebrows went up. This called for _expert_ intervention. Carth decided that he was not the expert, and beat a hasty retreat to the men's cabin.

"Psst. Pssst...!" Carth tugged at his sleeping former colleague's shoulder, waking him. The Jedi snorted like a Gamorrean as he was jerked back into consciousness.

"Hnnnh - _wha_ - Carth? ...'s not my turn, 's Candy-man's..." The Jedi rolled over and put his pillow over his head.

Carth's voice was a harsh whisper. "It's not the controls, you nerf-brain, it's your _Princess_!"

The pillow came off his ex-colleague's face. "_Bastila_?" The Jedi sat up. "What's happened?"

Crossing his arms, Carth stepped back and watched his ex-colleague try to put on his tunic and boots at the same time. "She's having a little cry in the pantry. I'm calling in the local expert on nobility and the peerage."

"Grife...! What's she crying about, do you know?" Damn laces. How'd they get so knotted? Forget it. Feet not as important as Bastila. The Jedi settled for pulling on a pair of stale socks.

"You're asking _me_? Buddy, _you're_ the one with Force powers and a lightsaber...!"

"All right, all right. Thanks, Carth."

The Republic officer raised an eyebrow and smirked as he watched his former colleague trundle off, stubbing his toe against the laundry box in the process. Young people and love. He'd been young, once, and in love. The memories came flooding back - picnics, terrible holovids, overpriced dinners, _countless_ shopping trips, _stolen kisses in the back of his dad's speeder_... Carth sat down heavily on his bunk. Memories were all he was left with, now - but those two had the potential to make _so many more_ for themselves... if the Princess would stop being a wet blanket.

* * *

In the privacy of the pantry, Bastila sat on the floor in a corner, with her legs drawn up. A holocron stood forlornly on the seat in front of her, and her lightsaber lay on the table nearby. She stared unseeing, into the space above the holocron, her mind replaying what she had seen of its contents. There had been so _much_ she had missed, so _many_ things he had wanted to tell her, so much her parents had gone through... she had _no idea_, no idea at all... how _difficult_ it had been to make ends meet, how badly her mother had _suffered_, how much _she_ herself had been missed; she had been so, so **utterly wrong** about her mother - she'd actually _believed_ that she'd been given away out of _convenience_ - it was **awful**...! How _selfish_ she had been! How could she have thought what she had? Bastila cried into her tunic afresh as her sense of loss and guilt deepened.

So absorbed was she in her private hell that Bastila did not hear the soft steps echoing in the cargo hold. Neither did she sense his presence, nor did she see him entering the pantry until she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

The Jedi knelt beside her. "_Bastila_." She looks like a lost spukamas kitten, thought the Jedi, as he observed the wet streaks on Bastila's face, her red-rimmed eyes, and the unkempt state of her hair. "Bastila? What's wrong, Princess?"

"No - nothing." Bastila tried to keep her voice even, but her emotions betrayed her, and she fell to sobbing again. The Jedi pursed his lips into a grim smile and sat down on the floor beside her.

"You're not the type who cries for 'nothing', Princess."

No response. He tried again.

"Would you like something hot to drink?"

"...tea," came the muffled reply. At least she's responsive, thought the Jedi. He nodded, got up and made two mugs of tea.

"...just plain," said Bastila from her corner. Over at the counter, the Jedi poured away the contents of one mug, rinsed it out, and re-made the tea.

Bastila received the mug proffered to her with a mute nod of thanks. She sniffed at it, sobbed a little more, wiped at her eyes with the back of her off hand, sniffed again, and took a sip.

The Jedi sipped at his tea as he took stock of the situation. Holocron. Bastila on floor, huddled in corner. Lightsaber on table. Hair all messed up. He reckoned he knew what was going on.

"It's a lot to take in," he said as he carefully placed his mug on the seat and sat next to Bastila on the floor. "But I wouldn't castigate myself if I were you."

"Why not?" demanded Bastila. "You know that I was... I was so... _angry_, I - I _wanted _her to lose him just like I had... I - I wanted _revenge_... that's - I mean, you know," - she started sobbing again, and he had to remove the mug from her hands before she scalded herself - "that I would _never_ have given... given her a chance... just to _talk_ - to, to - maybe even for the last... the _last time_ - and, and - well, I'm glad you did, that you... _were_ there, and..."

She was weeping freely now. The Jedi winced. The Manuals handed out to Republic soldiers had been very detailed, but neglected to mention how best to deal with emotional females. The Masters on Dantooine were wise and very learned, but the study of emotions had never formed a large part of their academic pursuits. Very slowly, he put an arm around Bastila while fishing about his person for a hanky. Bugger. He'd left it. He was about to tell Bastila that she was welcome to treat his sleeve as a makeshift handkerchief when he realised that she was already doing so. Will of the Force, etc, etc, etc, he thought.

"...so utterly _selfish_,and - I - I should have known better.. was taught... taught better - " sniff, "- really, really upset... myself, so stupid - been **totally** unfair - " sniff, sniff, "- some _Jedi_ I am." Bastila finished off by blowing her nose on his sleeve.

"Bastila. _I understand how you feel_. But there's something you need to realise. Are you listening to me?" She gave him a pathetic look. Gently smoothing down her mussed hair, the Jedi continued, "Mistakes happen. That's how we learn. People do it all the time. _Nobody's_ perfect - _not even the Masters on Dantooine_... or Coruscant, for that matter." He placed her mug beside his on the seat. "The difference between a mistake and a failing is simply this: mistakes are errors that we learn from. Failings are the ones that we _don't_ learn from. Being upset at yourself for... having stumbled... is fine - but you can't stay there _forever_. If you do, you lock yourself in the past... and you never learn."

The worst of the waterworks looked to be about over. "Let it go, Princess. Forgiveness isn't just something to give to others who have erred. _Jedi need to be able to forgive themselves too_." He patted her back affectionately and smiled a smile of encouragement. Bastila managed a weak one in return. She pondered Revan's words silently as she retied her hair.

"...there is... wisdom in what you say," she conceded, biting her lip. "You - you're _always_ there for me, aren't you...? Even though I keep... keep on pushing you away."

"I _care_ for you."

"She made you promise her to." There was a definite lilt to her voice now.

"I'd have _volunteered_ if she hadn't asked."

"Why?"

"Because _every_ princess needs a knight. The armour is optional." He knew it was a cheesy line - but a little levity wouldn't go amiss. Bastila snorted, and a wry smile manifested itself on her face. She gestured at her companion's feet.

"I think the _smelly_ socks should be optional too."

"Okay." Removing the offending socks, the Jedi tossed them out of the pantry dramatically. He flashed Bastila a cheeky grin. "_Anything else _you wish me to take off?"

She squeaked and chased him out of the pantry.


	6. Chapter 6

Morning dawned bright and fair - or it would have for the _Ebon Hawk_ had it been docked on any one of the thousands of temperate, habitable planets scattered throughout the far reaches of the galaxy. As things were, the ship was presently hurtling through hyperspace, en route to Dantooine. Kashyyyk, its Wookiee crusaders, and the riots which presently raged across the planet - were now literally a distant memory.

Juhani strode purposefully towards the men's cabin, a hubba-gourd ladle in her hand. She stopped at the cabin door. Sonorous snores could be heard emanating from within: this did not surprise the Cathar Jedi, who had long been aware of the strange Human custom of 'sleeping in' - one which was practised with _especial_ avidity by the males of that species. As such, Juhani had come prepared to deal with this cultural oddity in a typically efficient Cathar manner. She gave the door several sharp raps with the hubba-gourd ladle. "Get up! Get up! We have to talk _now_!"

Grunts, groans, some Mandalorian curses and a series of thumps were heard. Juhani waited. A shuffling noise, more grunts - slightly louder this time. The door slid open, revealing a disgruntled elderly Jedi. "_Yes_?"

"Urgent meeting. Five minutes to get dressed, Bindo. You and _all_ the boys. **Now**." The Cathar spun on her heel and made for the pantry, where Mission and Bastila were making breakfast. Breakfast could wait. There were matters of supremely greater importance to deal with at present.

* * *

The news that a miniature camera had been found hidden on the top of the shower head in the 'fresher was met with mixed reactions. Carth and Canderous exchanged accusing stares. Zaalbar offered the unsolicited opinion that most sentients were far too prudish, and that nudity had never hurt his people. Jolee loudly disclaimed responsibility for the presence of any and all cameras extant on the _Ebon Hawk_. Bastila turned a whiter shade of pale, hugged herself and stared, horrified and suspicious, at every male on the ship. Mission fiddled uncomfortably with the fraying edge of her vest. Juhani's fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the casing of the astrochart generator.

"_Well_?" she demanded.

Carth raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement. "That camera? I have never seen it in my life. _Never_. And that's the honest truth. I'm as shocked as - as anyone."

Jolee scratched his beard and hemmed. "Way I see it? _Everyone_ here's suspect. Except _me_, of course, 'cos that thing was found even before I _ever_ got on this ship." Juhani made as if to argue, but thought better of it.

"He's right," said the Jedi, breaking his silence. "We can either sit here and argue - pointlessly - about how each of us is innocent of this... offence, and end up none the wiser, because I _hardly_ think the party responsible is going to own up anytime soon. Bindo, on the other hand, is _neutral_. The fact that he himself was _never_ in a position to be able to plant that camera makes him the ideal candidate to conduct any investigation: he has nothing to hide." He glanced around the gathered circle: Canderous looked appeased, Carth was nodding and rubbing his chin in a thoughtul manner. Juhani grunted her assent.

"Proposal: Upon discovery of the culprit, I shall commence assassina-"

"That will **not** be necessary, HK," the Jedi quickly interjected. HK-47's processor light dimmed slightly.

"Supplication: Might I just squeeze their neck, very lightly - only a _little_ bit, Master?"

"_No_." The droid is positively psychotic, thought the Jedi. Its creator had to have been a certified _sociopath_.

A very small voice piped up. "...I - I agree - but... what's going to - we don't know exactly _how long_ the... the _thing_'s been there, and Force knows how much it could have captured by now - what, what I'm trying to say is... assuming we know who did it, there's bound to be... stuff. Right? _Stuff_. And - uh - it's not exactly the... sort of stuff that, that should become public. If you know what I mean. And I don't want - I'm not trying to be difficult here, but, that stuff - how do we know it _hasn't_ been... _published_?" The words tumbled out hurriedly, increasing in pitch towards the end, and Bastila shuddered involuntarily at the thought of being the subject of male fantasies the galaxy over. Her shock, embarrassment and distress were written plainly across her face. Juhani made a clicking noise with her tongue, and went to put an arm around her fellow female Jedi.

"You see how this is affecting us? I too, feel the same as Bastila. So shameful! And we have here a _child_, too," she said, pointing at Mission, who strangely allowed the 'child' reference to pass without objection.

_[I have nothing to confess,]_ said Zaalbar. _[Jolee has proven himself a friend to my people. I will accept his judgement.]_

"Bindo's the closest thing we have to an impartial tribunal right now," volunteered Carth. "I say we let him handle it."

"Second that," grunted Canderous.

"It's settled, then? Jolee, we'll have to trouble you. Sorry about that," the Jedi informed Jolee.

The bald man stroked his beard sagely and said nothing. He'd been observing the discussion very closely, and had come to some conclusions. "I'll be wanting everyone's datapads. Starting wi' yours, kiddo." Mission balked and started sputtering.

"Hey! N-no fair..! So, what, you're like, all gonna let him pick on me 'cos I'm the - 'cos I'm like, what, just because I'm _younger _than you all? Huh? I thought the Jedi were about bein' fair! So why's it gotta be _my_ datapad first, huh?" Mission backed up against the wall, her lekku rigid. Things were getting hot. Way too hot. She tried to stall for time. "I don't see you checking the _Mandalorian_'s datapad! Everyone knows the Mandalorians started the last war! Like, doesn't that totally make him like, the _prime suspect_ here?"

"Are - I am sorry to interrupt, but are you sure, Jolee? She is only a child. Moreover she is female, this sort of stunt typically males will try. Not the females," ventured Juhani.

"You gonna trust me to do my job, or what? Hand it over, kid. Datapad." Jolee beckoned to Mission. Bastila uncurled herself long enough to push the Twi'lek girl none too gently in Jolee's direction. Mission whined and started talking at high speed about age discrimination. Jolee held out his palm for her datapad.

"If you're innocent, you've got nothing to be afraid of, Mission," the Jedi counselled.

"Back on Telos we got a saying," chimed Carth. "Thieves bury what they steal. If you're innocent, you've nothing to be worried about. Are you hiding something from us?"

Mission shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "...I, I..." - she looked imploringly at Jolee - "... promise? You're not... going to be mad at me? I didn't, I didn't mean no harm...!"

A stunned silence fell on the assembled crew. Juhani and Bastila exchanged looks of consternation. HK cradled his blaster lovingly. Carth cursed softly under his breath, turned, and slammed his fist into the wall. Mission winced. The Jedi massaged his temples and told himself that under _no circumstances_ would Mission be allowed to use the workbench unsupervised in the future.

Jolee spoke. "Why'd you put up the camera, kid?" Mission shrunk into herself, as six pairs of eyes watched her expectantly.

"It was for Zaalbar," she said hesitantly. Zaalbar let out a croak of surprise. "I mean, as, like - it was to _teach_ him, y'know?"

"_Teach_ him! Teach him _what_, exactly!" snapped Bastila, the colour rising to her cheeks. "How to _pry into others' privacy_?"

Jolee motioned for Bastila to remain silent, and nodded encouragingly at Mission, who swallowed hard and proceeded to stammer out her reason for having installed the camera in the 'fresher to start with: how she'd observed that Zaalbar never took baths or showers, much less brushed his teeth - and how she'd given it a bit of thought and concluded that the reason _had_ to lie in his not knowing how to get himself looking presentable again. Hence, the surreptitious recording made of the sink area in the 'fresher - because, like, most beings prettied up in front of mirrors, yeah? And _how_ was she to have known that _some beings_ liked to do that **naked**?

"_Where'd_ you put the captures?" Juhani pounced on Mission with the query as soon as the teen had done speaking.

"Um, in my datapad but I haven't even seen them yet - well, _most_ of them, that is - "

"_Yet_? **Most**? Oh, for kriff's sake..!" Carth grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged in frustration. "_You hear that_! Kriffing kid's been - I don't beli - _kark_ this. You delete every last image, you hear me? _You kriffing well delete them_! All of them! Fourteen years old, and she doesn't know where the limits lie." Muttering under his breath, Carth stormed off in a very bad grace.

"I don't trust her to delete them," declared Bastila icily. Her shock having worn off, she was now regarding the shamefaced teen stiffly, with a discernible air of disgust. "As a matter of fact, I don't trust her at all. _Anyone_ who -" Canderous cut her off with a snort and a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Deleting the stuff's easy," he said. "If you don't trust anyone to do it then get a bloody droid to do it - here! HK!" He snatched Mission's datapad roughly and tossed it to HK-47. "Get T3 to wipe this thing."

"Dismissal: I only take orders from my Master, _meatbag_."

"Tell T3 just to wipe the... recent captures, HK. There's no need to clean Mission's datapad out entirely," said the Jedi wearily. Foolish girl! Then a horrid thought crossed his mind. Hmm. Better double-check with the girl - if she's done anything with the stuff her camera captured, best to find out in advance rather than later. "Mission, did you do anything with or to the data your camera recorded?"

The Twi'lek's lekku curled themselves into a knot behind her. She nodded. Juhani made a noise of dismay. Bastila fingered her lightsaber. Motioning for the women to stay calm, the Jedi continued to talk to Mission.

"Okay. Did you... publicise any of the... images?" Force, please don't have been so stupid, girl. Such things have _repercussions_! Not to mention there are _some_ people here you really _do not_ want to piss off...

Jolee cleared his throat and motioned for Mission to come near. "Listen, kid. That was a pretty _darn_ stupid thing, puttin' up that camera. 'S don't be surprised that you got folk all mad as killiks, you hear? Now. Only thing that's gonna make folk madder at you, is if there's something we ought to know, and you_ ain't tellin_'. So tell Uncle Jolee now... did you publicise anything, kid?"

Deciding that Jolee was probably the only ally apart from Zaalbar that she had left at this point, Mission thought it would be in her best long-term interests to co-operate. "...yeah."

"**Who**?" Juhani and Bastila exclaimed simultaneously.

Mission's eyes darted apprehensively to the opposite side of the room. Five pairs of eyes followed her gaze... and rested on the person of Canderous Ordo.

Zaalbar body-tackled in time to prevent the incensed Mandalorian from making good on his threat to cut Mission "a new one".

* * *

Rubbing his eyes as he stared mindlessly out of the viewport, the Jedi yawned and consulted the chrono next to the galaxy map. Two more hours at the controls, and then Juhani - or was it Zaalbar? - would take over. He stretched. Sleep would be good. _Very_ good. It had, after all, been a rather long day, what with Juhani banging down their cabin door first thing in the morning, then that 'board meeting' about The Mission Crisis, the outcome of which took a good chunk of the day to resolve...

Shaking his head, the Jedi pinched the bridge of his nose. Yes, sleep would be most welcome. Only two more hours. Stay awake, soldier! Yawning again, he wished that he'd had the sense to borrow a holobook from the library on Dantooine. It would have helped stave off boredom during the long hyperspace jumps... The Jedi made a mental note to check out the library first thing on their return to Dantooine, and started speculating about how many books the Librarian there might be persuaded to part company with for a while.

"Hey." The familiar mellifluous, if clipped, voice brought his mind racing back to the present. He winked open an eye and looked up. The Princess was standing by the partition separating the two seats in the cockpit, and her fingers were playing somewhat nervously at its edge. Her hair, the Jedi noted had been left down instead of braided into her usual coiffure. He smiled warmly at Bastila.

"You look lovely."

Bastila chewed on her lip and tried not to blush. "Um, you... free to... talk?"

"To you? _Anytime_, Princess."

Suddenly unsure of herself, Bastila started toying with a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. "She - I mean, Mission - apologised." Oh, well done, you silly girl. What a _fascinating_ topic you've chosen. Bastila thought she'd like to be able to disappear into the floor of the cockpit right about now. She tried to think of something interesting - something witty - to say, but nothing came. The Jedi watched Bastila tug at her hair, bemusedly. She's _much_ nicer this way, he thought. When she's being _herself_, and not trying to keep up a façade. Being efficient at your job - or a good Jedi, for that matter - didn't mean that you had to be a stolid, humourless, wound-up old maid. He gestured at the empty co-pilot's seat.

"Oh, yeah. Um..." Bastila trailed off sheepishly, and settled into the co-pilot's seat. "I was... well, you saw how it went earlier. Today. I was... pretty mad at her. But, uh, I... well, I thought... she's only _fourteen_. Just a kid. You know? And... kids... do... stupid things. I guess." Her cheeks were turning bright pink now - she could feel them - and Revan's eyes were still on her. Force. He must think you're a complete and utter idiot. She ducked behind the partition and grimaced, ticking herself off for her earlier decision - a definite moment of weakness! - to chat, actually _chat_, with _Revan_.

From the other side of the low wall, a twinkle appeared in the Jedi's eyes. Silly girl...! Forever in denial about one thing or another. He thought he'd put her out of her misery. "I wonder how many systems have fallen victim to the 'Glory of Clan Ordo' by now?"

Bastila coughed. "That... ah, that... was _very naughty_ of Mission." She coughed. "...the _Holonet_...! Goodness me." She coughed again. The Jedi peered over the partition, and thought he saw the smallest hint of amusement in Bastila's eyes. She met his gaze, hid her mouth and choked down another laugh which threatened to erupt. He grinned conspiratorially at Bastila.

"Admit it, Princess - you think _Canderous_ _on the Holonet_ is funny!" The Jedi tipped Bastila a wink.

Her eyebrows went up. "Me? I - oh, **no** - I, ah... I feel... sorry, actually. Yes. I feel _sorry_ for Canderous," she stammered unconvincingly and scratched her neck.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, the Jedi told Bastila, "So do I. Doesn't mean I don't find it funny, though. _Horribly funny_! Between you and I, Carth thinks of it as a sort of divine retribution." He sniggered, and Bastila soon found herself doing the unthinkable and giggling - _actually giggling_ - along with the former Sith Lord. Her giggles soon matured into a laugh, which she sought to stifle by biting into her fist. They sat there in the cockpit, laughing at Canderous' predicament and speculating wildly as to the demographics of his "fan base".

Dabbing away the tears that had come from too much laughing, Bastila asked, "...so.., ha-ha... jokes aside - how'd you convince Canderous _not_ to make dough out of Mission?"

"Actually, it wasn't me," confessed the Jedi. "Carth did it." He grinned at the memory. "But I don't think it's a tale suited to the... _delicate sensibilities_ of princesses."

"'Delicate sensibilities'? What 'delicate sensibilities'? I _want_ to know!" demanded Bastila, her eyes dancing. "I mean, how outrageous could it _possibly_ be?"

"It's rather... graphic. Even Jolee found it so."

"Graphic?"

"_Explicitly_."

"Explicitly graphic?"

"And definitely very, _very suggestive_, Princess."

Bastila's eyebrows went up. "I **see**." Well, that's right - certainly one thing you _don't_ want to know! Move along, move along...

She rested her head against the partition. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"'Princess', you mean? Because that's what you are... _to me_." She's so close, the Jedi thought. I can literally smell her skin, her hair... On impulse, he leant forward and inhaled her scent. It made him dizzy with happiness and excitement. He thought he would very much like to spend the rest of his shift sniffing Bastila.

"He meant it as a perjorative, you know. That man positively detests me." Bastila felt, rather than heard, her companion's long, slow exhalation, as it traced a feathery path across her forehead and eyelids, tickled the tip of her nose, and set fireworks off in the deepest recesses of her mind. There was a strange fluttering in her chest, too. She told herself it was only the Force bond they shared, and did her best to ignore it.

"I don't. Quite the opposite, actually." Some of her hair was tickling at his nose, and he brushed away the errant strands. "If you like, you can think of some silly name to call me. I promise not to mind."

Of all the absurdities..! Bastila snorted. "Are you serious?"

"Perfectly."

"All right." She turned and looked the former Sith Lord in the eye. "I seem to recall someone saying something about Princesses needing knights: well, something like that. So! I dub you...Sir Cabbage." She rapped him lightly on either shoulder with the hilt of her lightsaber and grinned impishly. The Jedi groaned.

"_Cabbage_! I tell you about my worries and you _make fun of me_?"

"You promised not to mind," intoned Bastila.

Holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, the Jedi nodded. "Yes, I did. All right. Sir Cabbage it is."

Bastila looked smug. "I think it is an _eminently_ suitable name. Don't you?"

"Oh, very." The Jedi leaned back in his seat and smiled charmingly at the woman beside him. "As a matter of fact, I'm taking it as a sign of encouragement to pursue you." She wrinkled her nose at him.

"You are an _exceptionally_ vain man...!"

"Not without cause, darling. After all, there is at least one Human culture in which lovers routinely refer to each other as 'cabbages'..." He winked at Bastila and blew her a kiss.

The look of mortified embarrassment on her face would stay etched in his mind forever.


	7. Chapter 7

Just a little under two hours, and they'd be back on Dantooine. It would be nice to be on solid ground again. Blue skies, avians in the trees, bit of fresh air, the smell of freshly-cut grass... Carth drank up the last mouthful of caffa in his mug and contemplated the dark brown stains ringing its interior. Better get a new scrubber, this old one's barely effective. The pantry door slid to, and Jolee strolled in, buttoning his tunic and whistling a cheerful tune.

"Mornin'."

"Didn't think you'd be quite so happy to go to Dantooine," remarked Carth.

"Oh, I'm all right with the place and the people," said Jolee. "It's just the damn politics I can't stand." He looked in the caffa-pot. "_Oi_! You drank every last drop!"

"Then make some more, Bindo," Juhani said as she joined the two men in the pantry. "But leave me out of it. I don't know how you Humans _live_ with such _strange_ things you put in your diet." She opened an overhead cabinet and rifled through its contents.

"Who's at the controls?" asked Carth suddenly.

Juhani paused to answer before dragging out a small box of grain bars. "Bastila. Why?" She shook the box, emptying several empty wrappers and one sorry-looking bar onto the table. She picked it up and sniffed it cautiously.

Carth craned his neck to look out of the little window cut into the pantry door. "Because _somebody's_ fast asleep in his bunk, and doesn't look set to wake before we arrive on Dantooine, and I'm in the mood for gossip."

Gossip? Jolee's ears pricked up. Twenty years in the Shadowlands with hardly any visitors, and he was dying for a good chin-wag. Besides, the old _always_ talked about the young, right? It was _traditional_. And he was an old man, with time on his hands, and a lifetime to forget. He stroked his beard and gave Carth his full attention. "What you got?"

The old man wanted gossip? He'd get gossip, thought Carth. "Fellow's head-over-heels about Her Highness, did you know?" He crossed his arms behind his head and grinned smugly. Jolee snorted in derison.

"That's _yesterday's_ news, sonny - probably even last week's news! It might even be last month's," scoffed Jolee.

Carth's eyes bulged. "_You_ knew? How - but you - you've only _just_ come on board - oh. He confided, huh?"

Jolee shook his head. "Nah. Gotta be blinder than a poisoned tach not to know. Bloody obvious. Saw it in five seconds."

"Even the _droids_ know, Lieutenant Carth. _Everybody_ knows. Just nobody talks about it." With a practised flick of the wrist, Juhani sliced open the wrapping of the grain bar with a claw, and proceeded to devour its contents. "He was liking her already when he first came to Dantooine, if you must know." The Republic officer looked crestfallen. So much for staying ahead of the curve...!

"And the Masters **didn't** freak out or start preachin'? My, times sure have changed," muttered Jolee, a trace of bitter sarcasm in his voice.

Juhani shrugged philosophically. "They knew, I think. At least they would have _guessed_. But there are bigger worries now than whether one Jedi is kissing another. Bastila is resisting, though I do not think she will for longer." She popped the last bit of her breakfast into her mouth and chewed. "They will need advice," she commented, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Jolee nudged Carth and chuckled. "From their seniors," he added. "Not that they'll listen, mind - the young never do - "

"-and from the married," added Carth.

"Never picked you for the romantic sort, Juhani..." Scratching his bald pate, Jolee looked quizzically at the Cathar woman, who smiled a secret sort of smile and calmly dusted the remnants of the grain bar from her hands and stood. Sweeping the empty wrappers and scattered crumbs into the empty box, Juhani disposed of the refuse and pressed the wall switch for the door.

"One good turn deserves another," she stated simply.

* * *

  
Atris glanced up from placing a stack of holobooks into crates and noted the two young Padawans as they meandered down the Great Aisle, their heads turning from side to side as their bright eyes darted about. Tthey wandered to the end of the corridor and doubled back again, pausing every few steps to consult what appeared to be a bit of - was that actually _parchment_! - and a datapad, scrutinising the faces of the Jedi they passed who were browsing amongst the myriad shelves of the Enclave library. They were looking for someone, it seemed, but weren't enjoying much success. Atris pursed her lips into a thin line of disapproval. This was _her_ Library, and she wasn't going to have Padawans wandering randomly about, even if they were on a mission.

She stood and beckoned imperiously. "_What_ are you doing?" she demanded. The children stared up at her. "W-we g-got a mess-message to g-give someone, Master," the older boy stuttered. "M-master Vrook said we'd f-find 'im here."

Atris held out her hand for the parchment, which turned out to be an envelope, made from the same old-fashioned material. It was sealed, and by the looks of it, likely contained more parchment. How odd! She turned the envelope right-side up and looked at it carefully, scowling at the name written on the front. _Him_! That _insufferable_ rebel! The Council should have _stripped_ him of the Force and _exiled_ him - along with the _other_ one - not healed and freed him! She chucked the envelope back at the Padawans. "I don't know who this is," she said dismissively. The boys backed away from the formidable Mistress of the Archives and huddled together at the Library entrance, trying to decide what to do next.

They found their target half an hour later in the Enclave gardens, in the company of a strange feline humanoid and a bearded, bald old man who stared and talked funny.

* * *

  
"A _wedding_! _Here_, on Dantooine? It's not Jedi, is it?"

"The Sandrals and Matales aren't Jedi, Carth." Using the Force, the Jedi levitated the parchment envelope and set it on course towards his former colleague.

"And we're invited?" The Republic officer caught the parchment envelope as it floated through the air. "_Nice_ party trick, buddy..." As he read the contents of the envelope, Carth's eyebrows crept farther and farther up his forehead. "Man...! These people sure are pulling out all the stops... hardly surprising if you ask me. Only son, only daughter..."

"There had better be _lots_ of women there," grunted Canderous. "Been a while since I got la-" Carth elbowed Canderous in the ribs and shot him a meaningful glare.

"I think it will be good for the families. It will bring peace to the long feud," observed Juhani. "Can I too see the invitation? ...Thank you, Lieutenant."

Jolee and Bastila crowded in beside Juhani to read the invitation themselves. "The Sandral and Matale families... honour of your company... wedding of our dear children..." Bastila stopped short when she saw the date. "_Oh my goodness_ - we got here _just_ in time - the wedding's tomorrow...!"

"_Are we going_? Are we going? Can _I _go?" Mission breathed excitedly. "Weddings mean _parties_, right? I **love** parties! I mean, there's like, there's probably gonna be music, and, and... dancing, and there'll be food - _lots of food_, right? And uh, everyone's gonna be all dressed up and stuff and there'll be _boys_ -" she stopped short.

"_[I am not fond of parties,]_" said Zaalbar. "_[Please excuse me.]_"

"Aww, Big Z! You're such a spoilsport," chided Mission. She tugged at Jolee's sleeve. "I can go, right?"

Carth spoke before Jolee could reply. "Only way _you're_ attending **any** party is if you _promise to behave _and you have _adult supervision_." Mission pouted and opened her mouth to argue, but Carth cut her off. "It's that, or no deal, kid. Your call."

The Twi'lek teen let out an 'aaah' of frustration. Then she perked up as an idea occurred to her. Uncle Jolee was, like, pretty damn _old_, right? Old enough to be her granddad. And olds were stupid as banthas. Yeah! "Uncle Jolee can look after me. Right, Uncle Jolee?"

Jolee appeared greatly confused. "Yeah, sure. Wait...! What are we talking about? I wasn't here. Wedding? Whose wedding? The _kid_ is getting _married_?"

Mission giggled. She was going to have a blast!

* * *

  
The party was in full swing. A Bith band had been brought in especially for the occasion, and their Twi'lek singer wasn't half bad. The marquees set up on either side of the river between the Sandral and Matale estates were bedecked with lights, a profusion of fresh flowers, and lots of ribbon. Guests danced and cavorted on floating platforms, or loitered around the buffet, grazing. Couples snuggled in corners where they _thought_ they could canoodle unobserved.

Bastila finished her drink and edged a little closer to the large bowl of brightly-coloured juice and tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible as she helped herself to another glass. This was the _first_ party she had ever attended in her life - and she was feeling increasingly out of place and bewildered: the noise, the constant talking, people dancing, the excited laughter and shrieks, the moving lights... that strange machine which puffed scented smoke into the air at intervals...

The food had been _delightful_, though. And the mixed juice was _excellent_ - she drank off the contents of her glass and refilled it. Yummy, thought Bastila. Sweet with a fresh tartness. A bit tingly down the throat, but that was probably the blumfruit... Bastila hummed contentedly to herself as she drank. Wonderful stuff, this. It was making her feel all nice and warm on the inside. She helped herself to another glass.

A passing serving droid with a tray of glasses stopped in front of her. "Would madam like a wine?" it asked.

Wine? Bastila looked around to see if anyone she knew was watching her. She had never tasted wine before. There had been stories when she was much younger about older Padawans who had been taken to task by their Masters for having drunk to excess - but one glass was hardly _excessive_, was it? "Just the one," she told the droid. Quickly downing the colourful drink she had poured herself earlier, Bastila exchanged the empty glass for a tall one containing a deep purple liquid. Pretty! And it smelt interesting, too... was that rose? She swirled the purple liquid gently, and admired the way it caught the light.

Here goes nothing, thought Bastila, raising the glass to her lips. She took a draught of the liquid, and quickly swallowed. Ooh! That felt strong - she coughed at the dryness in her throat. Palatable, though. Two more mouthfuls followed in quick succession. Mmm... fruity. The wine left a lingering flavour in her mouth which Bastila decided she liked. She quickly finished off the rest of the wine and stopped a passing serving droid. "One more, please," she said. Two. Two _wasn't_ excessive. She was a good Jedi - she had self-control, discipline... she could - _would_ stop! - at two.

The evening went by very quickly for Bastila after the second glass.

* * *

  
"How do you feel, Princess?"

The vaguely human shape beneath the blanket moved as if to turn onto its side, and made a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper. A pale hand with elegant long fingers crept out from under the recesses of the fabric and motioned weakly. Setting the tray he was carrying on the floor, the Jedi went to dim the lights in the cabin where Bastila lay, sleeping off the alcohol that she had consumed the night before.

"I feel sick," whined Bastila weakly from beneath the blanket. That's hardly surprising, thought the Jedi, as he knelt by her bunk and gently peeled back the blanket to reveal Bastila, looking very much the worse for wear.

"Ssssh... you've a hangover, Princess. Here..." - he brushed away the strands of hair stuck to her face - "...try to sit up - slowly, _slowly_... that's it - you need lots of water. It will make you feel better."

Bastila sipped the proffered water very slowly. Her head hurt. She didn't want to open her eyes, because everything still seemed to be spinning, and she didn't want to move, because her limbs felt like lead and the slightest change in posture made her stomach turn somersaults. If wine did this to people, _why in the galaxy_ did anyone bother _drinking_ it? Sensing her discomfort, the Jedi Force-pulled the pillows off Juhani and Mission's bunks and arranged them behind Bastila, propping her up comfortably.

Aargh. Sitting up was... tolerable, but only if she rested her head just so... Bastila slumped against the wall next to her bunk. "I will never, **ever**, touch wine again," she vowed. "It's _beastly_."

The Jedi smiled, and sat on the edge of the mattress. "It wasn't just the wine that did you in, Princess. That mixed juice you were so fond of last night contained a fair amount of alcohol too."

"Ehh?" grunted Bastila. _The fruit juice_? But it hadn't tasted like the wine, it had been sweet and fresh, juicy and... ugh. Thinking made her head reel, too. She licked her lips to moisten them, but they only felt drier than ever. "Water..."

Holding the glass to Bastila's lips, the Jedi spoke to her in a soft, low tone. "Yes. By the time we found you, you were well on your way to becoming best friends with the punch bowl... and you'd had _more than enough_ to drink by then, if your conversation was anything to go by..."

Conversation? Oh _no_...! Idiot girl..! _How_ could she have let herself go like that? What if - a horrid thought broke through the fog in Bastila's head and clawed at her - what if she had said something? Something she _shouldn't_ have? Oh, Force. What if she had told him _who he really was_? A spate of coughing ensued as Bastila inadvertently inhaled some liquid.

"Careful...! Go slow, Princess..." The Jedi handed Bastila a spare handkerchief, and watched as she dabbed at her mouth with it.

Ignoring the throbbing in her temples and her nausea, Bastila whispered, "...didn't say anything... did I?"

"_Lots_, actually. You're a very articulate drunk." The Jedi offered Bastila the glass again, but she shook her head at it.

"What... what did I - " The pounding in her temples was getting worse by the second. Bastila winced, groaned, and tried to massage her forehead, but the effort only made her feel sicker. She let her arms fall to her side with an exasperated sigh. Registering how even the smallest movements seemed to exacerbate her discomfort, the Jedi revised his previous estimate of the severity of Bastila's hangover from 'Unpleasant' to 'Absolutely Horrid'. Moving carefully so as not to add to her discomfort, he splayed his fingers over Bastila's head and massaged gently.

"...is that all right?... You... said a lot of odd things." Bastila's heart skipped a beat. Odd things - _what_ odd things?

"For starters, you told _everyone_ within earshot that my name is 'Sir Cabbage', and that people shouldn't talk too much to me as I am 'a very bad boy' with 'a history'," the Jedi informed Bastila, who did her best to mask her growing apprehension. "Then you started going off about how I 'wasn't always a Jedi'... which was weird, because _everyone_ knows that. You also giggled - a lot, in fact - and ..." the Jedi trailed off uncertainly. Perhaps it would be better not to tell Bastila everything. Her 'Jedi dignity' seemed to matter immensely to her, and if she knew exactly what she had said and done whilst under the influence... well, that would complicate things.

"...and?" queried Bastila in a weak voice.

"...and - before I say anything else, _please_ understand that I had _no intention_ of taking advantage of you," said the Jedi very carefully.

Bastila's eyes flew open in alarm. _What_? Taking advantage? She stared at the Jedi.

"Promise me, Princess? The next time you think you'd like a tipple, _please_ ask me - or someone else you can trust - to accompany you. _Don't go drinking alone, all right_?" There was a note of genuine concern in his voice. Bastila wrinkled her brow. Her headache, though still ongoing, was suddenly much lower on her list of immediate concerns than before.

"Y-yes - but... I - I don't think - no, I'm _definitely_ never drinking again, ever," she began. The Jedi nodded and shushed her before continuing.

"...thank the Force Carth and I spotted you in time. There were a couple of guys around you who... well, let's just say they were looking for an _opportunity_, and while you weren't... _encouraging_ them, you weren't telling them to get lost, either."

"I didn't -"

"No, no - of course not! You didn't do anything silly, that's for sure. More like _they_ were the ones trying to 'be funny' with you, and you just weren't in any shape to spot the obvious." The Jedi paused and pushed Bastila's hair behind her ears. "When I saw them talking to you, I knew they were up to no good. So I went over... with Carth, and - and basically told them to back off. _Nicely_, of course," he added hastily. "I was actually going to tell them that you were my sister instead of... of... you know... kissing you on the cheek - because I didn't want you to think I was 'being fresh' - but I kind of had to when you..."

"...I what?"

"...well, you were _totally sloshed_ by then, I think - so I wouldn't tear myself up about it if I were you -" he paused to consider the consequences of telling Bastila what she had done whilst intoxicated. Best case scenario? She'll be utterly embarrassed and won't converse for the next few days. Worst case scenario? I lose any chance with her. Suddenly, he felt as if he had caught Bastila's headache himself.

"What?" queried Bastila.

"After doing the 'Sir Cabbage' thing and calling me a bad fellow with 'a history', you pinched me."

Pinch? That was it? What a relief...! Friends pinched each other all the ti - "...where?"

"Behind."

"_Behind_?"

"Yes."

"Shoulder?"

"No."

"Back?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Side?" Even the nausea which accompanied her every movement had ceased to be a factor for Bastila at this point, as the embarrassing reality of what she possibly - probably! - had done forced itself into her consciousness.

"...yep."

Bastila's hands flew up to her face. She keeled forwards and whined, collapsing onto her side and burying herself quite completely under a pillow-and-blanket mass. This is my cue to leave, I think, said the Jedi to himself. He got up and pushed the tray with its contents to a more secure and accessible spot beside Bastila's bunk. "I, ah... will be going now. T3 will watch you... if you need anything, just tell him to find me. I'll, ah... be reading in... the garden. Awkwardly, he made his way to the door and found the wall switch, looking over his shoulder as he did so. Bastila's huddled figure remained very quiet and still.

With an air of resignation, the Jedi pressed the switch for the door. As he stepped out of the cabin, Bastila called softly to him.

"Thank you for looking after me... Sir Cabbage."


	8. Chapter 8

_Clear your mind._

Feel the Force around you.

Feel it flow between you, the wall, the door, the crystal in your lightsaber.

The crystal is the heart of the blade. The heart is the crystal of the Jedi. The Jedi is the crystal of the Force. The Force is the blade of the heart... all are intertwined: the crystal, the blade... the Jedi.

The Force touches all life: you, Juhani, Carth, Canderous, Jolee, Mission, Zaalbar... Revan. 

Revan. Her heart sank, and Bastila sighed resignedly as her meditative connection to the Force was interrupted. _Revan_. She did not know what to think.

Was he _still_ Revan if Revan's memories were lost to him? If he had no inkling of who he _truly_ was? Did she - did _anyone_ - have the right to condemn him for his past, when he himself was innocent as to its existence? Was she wrong to have judged him as harshly as she had?

He was so different now... completely, _utterly_ different from the Dark Lord of the Sith she had once stood before, her lightsaber at the ready. Bastila well remembered that day.

She had felt his presence - felt the darkness - even before she saw him, and it was monstrous. She had imagined a great hulking mass, one so disfigured and twisted by the corruption of the Dark Side that he would be barely recognisable as Human; a form - more than a person - draped in shadow, cloaked in mystery. But she had been wrong. When she and her companions found themselves confronting - actually confronting! - the Dark Lord of the Sith, there had been no time to think. None at all. She had challenged him - he raised his lightsaber in response - and then the ship they were on shook violently, throwing everyone to the floor... it went completely dark... there had been sparks - something must have shorted - and then, the emergency lighting came on, and her companions were... _gone_, all of them, and she was left alone.

No, not alone.

She could barely see for the smoke that was rising from the gaping holes in the floor, but she could feel him: dark and desperate and despairing, but clinging to life with all the tenacity of a committed despot. She had despised him _cowardice_! A true Jedi, one whose path lay in the Light, one whose will was lost and immersed in the Will of the Force, would not have turned from death! Only a Sith would cling to life when life itself has abandoned him, she had sneered as she half-clambered, half-crawled to where he lay, a dark crumple on a shuddering floor. With fingers still numb from shock she had pried off his mask - and looked into the face of... a man.

And then she had saved his life.

Why, she did not know. Perhaps it had been because he still looked so... human. Perhaps it was because his visage, though pale and drawn, did not bear the marks of corruption. Perhaps it was because in that instant, she had seen him for what he was: a Jedi, forced to the edge; a man, broken by the destruction of worlds he had been forbidden to aid; a flame, growing steadily weaker, but resolute and defiant in the face of utter defeat. She did not realise it then, but in choosing mercy over retribution, compassion over vengeance, she had forged the bond that now linked them both.

He is no longer what he was. He is kind, compassionate, irreverently funny, committed, a natural leader - he is all this, and more. He even makes you tea the way you like it without your having to ask. Is this what he was, before... _before_? You know, in your heart of hearts, why Revan made the choice he did. You know too, that his tragedy was not _entirely_ of his own making. You know - Bastila shook her head, willing the thoughts to stop. They were traitorous thoughts, ones that would, if not dismissed, surely turn her feet down the same dark path that Revan had once trod. And this she could _not_ allow to happen.

Other discomfiting thoughts quickly rose to take the place of those she had banished.

You are fond of him, Bastila. You have seen the way he looks at you, and the smile he reserves only for you. He has shared the few memories he possesses - those that the Council gave him. He has made you his confidant, his friend: his insecurities, his fears, his worries - with these you are well acquainted. He has hidden nothing from you, given you all he can, respected your boundaries... and yet you constantly judge, and criticise, and preach... Have _you_ lived as selflessly as you have seen him live? You _coveted_ that holocron, Bastila. You would have kept it, _denied_ your mother one final audience, denied her the one thing that would bring her some measure of comfort in her last illness. You _would_ have, if not for his intervention. You lose your temper at Mission, and delight in sarcastic utterances. He lets her be what she is - a lost and searching child, and tries gently to nudge her in the right direction.

How are you any _better_, Bastila Shan, than the man you call a Sith Lord? He is _ten times_ the Jedi you are, and you **love** him.

No - no, no... _no_! You dare not love him... you _cannot_. You _must not_ love him... even if you wish to.

In the stillness of the cockpit, Bastila covered her face and wept.

* * *

  
Carth nursed his morning caffa bemusedly as he watched his former colleague potter about the small pantry. Pick out fruit, wash fruit, glance over shoulder towards door, proceed to quarter and core fruit... scramble to 'catch' the tea before it over-brews, drop fruit knife... He rubbed his nose and sniffed. "Pullin' out all the stops, aren't we?"

The Jedi looked up from arranging the freshly-cut fruit on a plate. "The _what_?"

"Pssht - think I was born yesterday? Been there, done that, buddy..." Carth took another sip of caffa, swirled it about inside his mouth, and swallowed before continuing. "I suggest you put it all on a tray for her. Women have a thing for trays."

"Aaah...? Ah, no - no, I ah..." the Jedi started to protest, but thought better of it. He tossed the dirty fruit knife into the sanitation unit, and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "...it's _that_ obvious, is it?"

The Republic officer nodded sagely. "Even old metal-panties back there's starting to ask questions, and he's not the type to notice anything that doesn't involve a good chance of a brawl."

Ah. Well. Erm. "You... sure about the tray thing?"

"'Course I am. Wouldn't lie to you. Officer's honour and all that." Carth placed a hand over his heart solemnly. "And I know the subject, buddy - got _married_, yeah? Had the wife and house with bills and kid and all that..."

The next few minutes saw a sudden flurry of activity as the Jedi flung open overhead storage units, rummaged through their contents, then turned his attention to pulling out the lower storage units and dug through the miscellany...

"Got it!" Grinning like an idiot, the Jedi brandished his find aloft.

Carth gave him the thumbs-up. "Very good, my young apprentice. Now, here's an extra bit of knowledge for you. Women like trays. That's lesson number one. Lesson number two: women like trays with doilies on them _more_. The fancier, the better."

"Doilies?"

"Yeah - fancy bits of lacy-type stuff, usually handmade, take a ridiculous amount of time to do - women are absolutely _crazy_ about them... well, my wife was, at any rate..."

"Hmm. Davik doesn't seem to have been a... _doily_ type of chap," remarked the Jedi.

"Nah, you'll be fine. You made breakfast for her. Gonna love you for it," replied Carth airily. The pantry door slid open just as he finished speaking, admitting Bastila. Carth nearly fell off his seat trying to appear nonchalant. "Mornin', your Royalness," he chirped.

There was a clatter of crockery on metal as the Jedi hurriedly piled the plate of prepared fruit and a mug of tea onto it. "Hello, Princess..." The greeting died on his lips, just as the temperature in the pantry seemed to drop a few standard degrees.

Bastila looked down her nose stiffly at Carth. "I have a _name_, and it is about time you learnt to use it," she told him archly. "That goes for _you_ as well," she told his companion, who was balancing a full tray and regarding her with a stunned expression.

Boy is _someone_ in a mood, thought the Jedi. Be diplomatic... he set the tray down on the table and smiled at Bastila warmly. "You must be worn out from staring at the controls, Bastila. I put your breakfast together for you. Eat up and get some rest."

A silence fell in the pantry. Bastila remained where she stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip and the other worrying at the edge of her leather tabbard. A fleeting look of uncertainty passed across her face, and for a moment it seemed as though she might thaw. Then her features seemed to harden, and both men found themselves the target of one of Bastila's legendary glares. Her lips curled upwards - not into a smile, but a snarl.

"I should think I am perfectly _capable_ of seeing to my own needs," hissed Bastila. She looked sideways at the Jedi. "I do _not_ need to be coddled, least of all by _you_." With that, Bastila turned on her heel and strode out of the pantry. Thoroughly puzzled, the Jedi made to follow her but found himself being pulled back into the pantry by Carth, who was shaking his head knowingly.

"Leave her - leave her - "

The Jedi sputtered confusedly. "What - I, I don't understand - you said - tray, right?"

Carth motioned for him to be quiet. Then he put his hands on the younger man's shoulders, and looked him in the eye. "Buddy, it's _not_ the tray. It's not the tea, not the food - and it's not _you_."

"Well then what -" the Republic officer motioned for silence again.

"Lesson number three. The most _important_ lesson a man can _ever_ learn," intoned Carth seriously. "Make a note of today's date, buddy. Then count forward about twenty-five to twenty-eight days, and mark out that date as well. And then count forwards another twenty-five, twenty-eight days after that, and so on so forth. You'll thank me for this one day." He patted the Jedi's shoulders in a show of male solidarity.

Not the tray? What's eaten Bastila? Calendars? _Count_? The Jedi gave Carth a bewildered look. Then comprehension set in belatedly, and he groaned. "You're _not_ suggesting what I _think_ you are, are you?"

"That would depend on the nature of what you think it is I'm suggesting, though I think I'm right in thinking that you're thinking of the suggestion which I _am_, in fact, suggesting," stated Carth. "Fact of life, buddy. _Fact of life_."

The Jedi stared at Carth almost incredulously. "Wha - but - but... she's a **Jedi**! I'd have thought the Order would've... you know, for _this_? Specialised... meditation... techniques?"

Carth's laughter could be heard across the _Ebon Hawk_.

* * *

  
Fifteen hours later, Tatooine was a distant memory and they were in hyperspace again. The Jedi reviewed the day's events as he tried to make sense of the sudden about-turn in Bastila's behaviour. The more he thought of it, the more he was certain that Carth's diagnosis did not adequately account for her baffling conduct. Carth's guess had been, at best, an educated one born of experience - but experience was all Carth had to go on. He, however, had the Force. And a bond with Bastila. At first he had accepted the Republic officer's words at face value. However, the strange and confusing barrage of... what should he call them - vibrations? tremors? - well, _something_, at any rate... which had transmitted so strongly across the bond they shared when he was focusing on 'feeling the Force' shortly thereafter... couldn't have been just _hormones_.

No. There was... something _more_. It felt - so like Bastila, but so unlike her at the same time. Hope - and regret. Focus - and fear. Confidence, a sense of rightness - and with it all, doubt and questioning. He thought he'd even sensed something more: anger, and what might have been love - but then she must have felt him exploring their bond, and thrown up some sort of mental wall. He pulled back when she did that, more for her sake than his own.

She's _conflicted_, the Jedi mused. It isn't healthy to carry so many inner demons about, and by the feel of it, Bastila has dozens... wish she'd talk about it, open up... I thought I - we - were getting somewhere, and then... pfft. He took a slow, deep breath and exhaled through his teeth.

"Uh... hi. Is this a good time?" Mission's voice recalled the Jedi to himself. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he'd failed to sense her approach. Swivelling around in the pilot's seat, he smiled kindly at the teenager.

"Sit down, Mission. You want something?"

Mission stared at her feet and gnawed at the nails on her right hand distractedly. Her lekku twitched behind her. "Um, yeah. Uh, kind of. Um. I, ah..." she stopped, her blue cheeks turning violet. "I... wanted to... say... man, this is - I mean, you know, Griff means _a lot_... to me. And, uh, yeah. I, uh... wanted to tell you that, y'know, um... he's like, the _only_ family I have, and, and, I know he has his flaws... and lots of people _don't like him_ and you _didn't_ have to, I mean, he's not even like, y'know? _Related_ to you or anything but you've totally, um, like done **stuff** for him... stuff and, um... it's more than, more than what anyone's ever done for me before, because like, he's my _brother_ and you're being so good to my brother, and that's like - I mean, it's like, I feel you're being nice to me... too. And, and I guess... well, not guess, really, kind of like I know - but y'know - um, I don't really deserve you being so nice and all 'cos I've been kind of... a brat, I think... and... yeah."

The Twi'lek girl was speaking so softly that the Jedi found himself lip-reading her just to make sense of what she was saying. Griff? Oh, that. "Don't worry about it, Mission. That's what friends are for."

The teenager's reaction was as sudden as it was unexpected. Mission's eyes suddenly brimmed with tears, and very soon, the Jedi found himself leaping out of the pilot's seat to comfort a very emotional adolescent who seemed to be more interested in emotional dramatics than actual communication. Between patting Mission's back and cooing at her to calm down and hoping that Jolee or Carth would come to his rescue, the Jedi managed to ascertain several things: one, Mission wasn't sad; two, she was actually overjoyed; three, she was immensely grateful; and four, that the combination of intense joyfulness and gratitude induced waterworks. The last conclusion was significantly buttressed by the teenager's alternating her crying with giggles and smiles, and impulsively hugging him before running out of the cockpit, doubtlessly to pursue her emotional theatrics elsewhere.

Now **that's** hormones, the Jedi told himself as he stared, bewildered, at Mission's retreating back.

* * *

  
Manaan. Who would ever have thought that there'd be a _queue_ just to dock at Ahto City? The crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ loitered about, busied themselves at the workbench or chatted idly in random corners of the ship as they waited for the starport authorities to clear the _Ebon Hawk_ for landing. Juhani and the Jedi sat gazing out of the viewport at the planet - a glowing azure orb in the black vastness of space.

"It is a water world, I am told?" Juhani's ears twitched. Water was all right, in controlled quantities. She liked water when it was in jars or glasses or containers. But water **everywhere** on a world? It offended her Cathar sensibilities.

"Yes, it is. The Selkath live in large underwater cities - but don't worry, Ahto City is perfectly dry. Most of it, at least."

"That is good to know. Me, I do not like the water too much. Too wet it is."

Both spent a few minutes in silence, contemplating the intricate swirls of clouds that floated languidly in Manaan's atmosphere. Would talking to Juhani help? the Jedi wondered. No reason why it shouldn't... after all, she has been a Jedi far longer than you have. He broke the silence.

"Juhani? I'd like your advice on something."

The Cathar Jedi grunted softly. "I am listening."

"Well... you must have noticed that Bastila's been... out of sorts. Lately."

"Mmm."

"I... get the impression that... she's upset. And uncomfortable about me. As if I've done something to... offend her. I've been trying to think what it could be, but..." - he frowned, lines creasing his forehead - "...for the life of me, I can't."

Juhani turned a pair of brownish-yellow eyes to her comrade. "That is not all that bothers you, no?"

Ruffling the hair at the back of his head, the Jedi nodded. "Yes. There's more, you're right. I... don't know how to say it, Juhani. Please don't think I'm badmouthing Master Atris..."

"Master Atris?" Her full attention engaged, Juhani looked over the partition and listened earnestly. "What about Master Atris?"

"Master Atris was... unfriendly. Her dislike for me was _obvious_, but why? I mean, I don't even know her - I certainly never met her before the Order took me in. But she seemed offended by my very _existence_, if that were possible. And... Bastila - she's going all Atris on me now. I don't understand it."

Choosing her words carefully, Juhani replied. "Perhaps she too does not understand it." Seeing the question in her fellow Jedi's eyes, she hastened to clarify herself.

"I do not think she means to... distress. Bastila is not Master Atris, my friend. They are two different ones." She paused, arranging her thoughts. Diplomacy had never been her strong suit... Clearing her throat, Juhani continued. "Master Atris... is unlike other Jedi. To her, the judgement of others, it comes quickly. But Bastila is young, and not always does she know _what_ to think. I feel she has much to think of. Perhaps confusion to her it has caused."

The Jedi pondered Juhani's advice solemnly. There was something to be said for it, he decided. Bastila had grown up in the shelter of the Order, surrounded by Masters. Their counsel and direction would have effectively marked out the path she had trod in life thus far. Given recent events - the wedding party! - it was amply clear that well-intentioned and rigourous though Bastila's Jedi education had been, it had ill-prepared her for some of the starker realities of life in the galaxy at large. To have full responsibility for a mission such as theirs suddenly thrust onto one's shoulders at such short notice? His heart went out in sympathy to Bastila. Poor girl! Small wonder she was temperamental, confused and moody. Anyone in her position would be, Jedi or no!

"You're right, Juhani. She's got lots on her plate as things are. Thank you." He nodded gratefully at Juhani.

The communication interface crackled, and a raspy voice announced in heavily-accented Basic that the _Ebon Hawk_ had been cleared for landing.

* * *

  
Far in the deep recesses of space, a destroyer of prodigious proportions lurked unseen. Approaching the red-cloaked figure who stood at the bridge, Admiral Saul Karath felt his throat tighten in apprehension. He steeled himself to speak.

"We have lost contact with the assassins on Kashyyyk, Lord Malak."

The red-cloaked figure said nothing. There was no indication that he had heard the report. Nervously, Admiral Karath continued his narration. "That was four standard days ago, my Lord."

Still no response.

Admiral Karath began to sweat profusely. He hated it when Lord Malak was quiet. A raging, violent Lord Malak was infinitely preferable, in his opinion, to the silent, brooding figure in whose audience he was now standing. A raging, violent Lord Malak was obviously displeased and therefore easy to read: a quiet Lord Malak on the other hand, was dangerously unpredictable. And Saul Karath hated unpredictability.

"My Lord, I will send out _more_ assassins. I will dispatch our most _highly-trained spies_ to Kashyyyk. I will -" The red-cloaked figure turned and silenced Admiral Karath with a commanding gesture.

"You will do **no** such thing, Admiral." Despite its unnatural timbre, there was no mistaking the voice of the Jedi once known as Alek 'Squint'. "Mere assassins and bounty hunters will not stand a chance against my old Master. No, I will send someone else."

The Admiral ventured to look directly at Darth Malak. "...someone else?"

"My apprentice." Darth Malak raised a hand and beckoned to a dark figure who had just entered the chamber leading up to the bridge. "_Darth Bandon_."

In response to an unspoken command, the figure strode confidently towards the Dark Lord of the Sith, kneeling at his feet.

"What is your bidding, my Master?" Darth Bandon's voice was low and laced with malice.

Darth Malak turned away from his apprentice and resumed his previous position. "Revan awaits you on Manaan. With him is the young Jedi Bastila Shan... and their companions. Bring me Bastila... _alive_. The others you may slay."

"As I am bid, my Master." Rising to his feet, the Sith apprentice backed a respectful distance away from his Master, before turning smartly and exiting the bridge.

With Darth Bandon out of sight, Admiral Karath found both his voice and the nerve to speak again. "My Lord?"

"Yes, Admiral?"

"How did you know, my Lord - Manaan?"

"Impertinent today, Admiral?"

Eyes widening in terror, Admiral Karath held up his hands submissively. "No, my Lord - _never_...!"

Darth Malak turned around, eyes narrowed. Pitiful, weak-minded fool...! "Set course for Dantooine," he ordered.

Admiral Karath hastened to obey.


	9. Chapter 9

It seemed that the Selkath were _very_ fond of red tape. Immigration procedures at most starports across the galaxy were fairly straightforward affairs: dock at starport, endure routine inspection of cargo and personnel, declare dutiable goods and weaponry, produce personal identification documents, pay requisite docking or registration fee (usually both): sorted. The Ahto port officials had required _all_ of the above, in addition to mandating the completion of numerous forms pertaining to one's recent travel and medical history, criminal record, employment history, purpose of visit...

"Going to bloody ask about my sex life next," Canderous had grumbled whilst tackling one of the numerous forms each member of the crew had been obliged to fill out.

"You haven't got one," was Carth's ascerbic reply.

"Speak for yourself, nerf-brain." Done with one form, the Mandalorian picked up another and started reading it through. "Oi...! What's this about 'political affiliation'?"

Jolee didn't even bother looking up from his form. "I'd imagine it meant _exactly_ what it said, young man." He entered a few more lines of text and gave his form the once-over.

The Mandalorian's eyebrows drew together. "Bloody form makes no karking sense. It's either 'Republic' or 'Sith'. There isn't even an 'Others' option."

Bastila rolled her eyes impatiently. "Oh for crying out _loud_ - were you _actually_ expecting a _third option_? What, 'Mandalore'? In the current political climate? After the war _your_ people started?" She stomped off to stand near the exit ramp.

"Think it's brain damage, your High - sorry - Bastila. I mean, bleedin' _metal_ helmets...! Poor ventilation, lack of oxygen... Causes cell death, doesn't it?"

"Get off him, Carth," said the Jedi as he completed the last of his forms and went to join Bastila, who had whizzed through the form-filling like a pro. She barely acknowledged his presence. The Jedi snatched a quick glance over his shoulder and noted that their companions were still preoccupied. _Now is the time to talk to Bastila_ - might not get another opportunity like this. He tapped her on the shoulder.

"Bastila. We need to talk."

She refused to look at him. "We have nothing to speak about."

He tried again. "I know you're upset about something. If I've... offended you, won't you give me a chance to put things right?" Finally - a reaction, thought the Jedi as Bastila frowned, then pinched her forehead and rubbed it. "_Please_?"

**Damn**. Damn and botheration! Bastila covered her forehead and eyes with her hand and rubbed frustratedly. _Why_ did Revan have to be so damnably _decent_? Why did he have to be so bloody _polite_? She'd spent the last thirty-six hours trying to get him out of her system, but he had to wreck it all by meekly taking the blame for something that wasn't even his fault! She took a deep breath to collect herself.

"Fine. I suppose I owe you at least an explanation. But not here. Somewhere more private."

Without waiting for a reply, Bastila marched towards the men's cabin and let herself in. Once inside, she waited for Revan to enter before locking the door. Closing her eyes, Bastila bit her lip and counted slowly to five. There was sure to be an expression of genuine unhappiness on Revan's face, and it would be utterly justified. She would ignore it - _there is no emotion, there is peace_ - she would not allow her stupid sentiment to get in the way of finally putting this nascent... thing to rest - _there is no passion, there is serenity_ - she would say her piece and make it very plain that this... whatever it was, would go no further - _there is no chaos, there is harmony._ Yes. She **could** do this. She turned to face him.

The Jedi stood quietly in the middle of the cabin, hands by his side, questions in his eyes. Bastila gritted her teeth and spoke.

"Please understand how difficult this is for me to say. I... do not express myself well. At any rate I have no time for... _sentimentality_. That is the way it has always been, and the way it _should_ be."

She paused, hoping that he would say something - anything! - to give her a reason to put him in his place, but he did not. Instead, he continued to look at her with the same meek, questioning expression, which was most unnerving. Continue talking. Say it all, and be done with it forever. "I... confess. That I... have an... I am... attracted to you." There. I've said it. Bastila blushed crimson, and it took all her self-control to keep from punching the wall switch and running out of the cabin altogether.

The Jedi's eyes widened. Are my _ears_ going in addition to my brain? Did I just hear _Bastila Shan_ confess to liking - actually **liking** - me? Oh. My. The sheer shock and surprise at this unanticipated admission caused his brain to malfunction momentarily. "You're attracted... to _me_? As in... you find me... attractive, to - to you?"

The crimson spots on Bastila's cheeks deepened, and spread to the rest of her face. "Yes," she said testily. "I did. And I don't know why, because you're _egotistic_ and _vain_, and you will let this go to your head _entirely_, which is so _conceited_, you're 'full of beans', as the Masters call it, and you're so _damnably_ self-absorbed that you will certainly never let me live this down, and so I am **warning** you" - she shook her finger at him - "under _no circumstances whatsoever_ are you to ever mention this conversation to any of our companions. If you do, I shall simply deny it."

Conceited! 'Full of beans'? Self-absorbed! My goodness - she's certainly spent time thinking up new ones for you, said the Jedi to himself. He was still floating from the shock of the happy discovery that Bastila liked him back.

"Bastila, why - I - I thought you _hated_ me...!" he told her excitedly.

"Jedi don't 'hate', that's a Dark Side thing, and anyway it's forbidden," Bastila shot back. "Love, I mean." Oops - she covered her mouth in horror. _What_ did she just say?

Dear Force, don't take me now - this is the best thing since sliced Corellian Spiceloaf...! "By whom?"

"Love is a path to the Dark Side! It is a passion, and therefore inherently tainted. _That_ is why Jedi must not love!"

"Tainted! Bastila, that makes no sense at all - compassion! Sympathy, mercy, justice... generosity, aid to all who need it - these are the virtues the Jedi Order advocates, aren't they?"

"Yes, and obviously 'love' _isn't_ one of them!"

"That's because it's _all_ of them, Bastila! All of those things, and more! Don't you see we're called to love unconditionally? Are universal compassion, mercy and justice Dark? So how can love be 'tainted'?"

"Because love is an _attachment_, and attachments make people make wrong decisions!"

The Jedi shook his head vehemently. "No, Bastila. Love doesn't make people make wrong decisions. People make wrong decisions _all the time_, with or without love. The Sith certainly aren't a loving bunch of people. Love is an attachment, yes - but there are attachments and then there are _attachments_. Can you honestly say that a being can live without _any_ attachment whatsoever? Our actions affect the world around us - even the future of others. That's the whole basis of the 'social contract', don't you see? How then can one live without 'attachments'?"

"You know very well what I mean," snapped Bastila. "And yes, I know what you think unhealthy attachment is, but this - _this_! - is definitely unhealthy!"

"**Why**? Why is it unhealthy for us to love each other?"

Her internal defenses were steadily weakening, and Bastila knew it. She tried stalling. "Because it is. It just is!" Bastila stood rooted to the spot, unable - unwilling - to move away.

"Why, Princess? Why is it wrong for me to wish to protect you - to watch over your steps? How is it 'Dark' if I wish to be with you, to give you everything I can, to warn you if I think you're starting to veer off the straight and narrow?"

She could not meet his searching gaze. "I... I... no. I - I don't know. I... what if - like Jolee! and... his wife - I could become a snare, how - no, it's too great a risk..." Bastila trailed off mutely as the Jedi gently raised her chin, and called softly to her to look at him.

"Princess... you ask questions for which there are no easy answers. At least none that can be honestly given," he told her. "I do not know if I could find it in myself to... destroy you... if you fell. But I know that I would do all I could to prevent you from falling to start with... and that I would sacrifice myself to bring you back. I've said as much to you... before. All I ask... is that... you let me love you. It would be wonderful if you... reciprocated, but if you don't want to, or you're... afraid to, well, I can't say that I'd like that as much... but I would _never_ force - or expect you to - love me back." He concluded in a whisper.

Bastila felt the walls she had painstakingly erected over the past day and a half come crashing down. She breathed a hoarse reply. "That would cause you much pain."

"Yes, it would. But it is a price I am willing to pay for _your_ sake, my dear Princess."

"I could never hurt you," confessed Bastila. She blinked back the tears that had formed. "I don't _want_ to."

"That is the beauty of love, Princess. It is patient... does not envy or boast, it is not prideful or self-seeking...love in its purest cannot delight in the Dark. Love will protect and trust, always hoping, always perservering..." Bastila had given up on holding her emotions in check, and was now pulling his face towards hers, a feral glint in her eyes.

"Shut up and _kiss_ me now, you blithering fool," she growled. Before the Jedi could react, her lips were on his, and she was threatening to suck all the air out of his lungs.

He capitulated.

* * *

  
Admiral Saul Karath watched the last of the Sith bombers returned to the Leviathan's immense hangar with devilish satisfaction. Lord Malak would be pleased. The Jedi Enclave on Dantooine had been reduced to rubble by their relentless strikes. Doubtless the Jedi would have been caught unawares. _Dozens_ would have perished: younglings, Padawans, Knights... perhaps even a few Masters!

His lips twitched upwards into a cruel smile as he stabbed a glowing button on the communications interface with a white, bony finger. "My Lord Malak?"

A raspy, unnatural voice replied. "Speak."

"It has been done as you commanded, my Lord."

No response. Admiral Karath assessed the situation calculatively and decided that this might be an opportune time to elevate his standing with a view to advancing his career. "My Lord, there is a possibility that some Jedi scum may have escaped the destruction of the enclave. I shall send in assassins at once to hunt down and destroy any survivors."

"Unnecessary. You will travel to Manaan and await communications from my apprentice, Admiral. I will return to the Star Forge."

More from force of habit than anything else, Admiral Karath snapped to attention and saluted. "At once, my Lord!" Then he began barking orders to various personnel, spittle flying in all directions.

Far above Dantooine's atmosphere, the Leviathan's hyperdrive engines flared to life in a blinding blue halo, and the massive destroyer winked out of sight.

* * *

  
Juhani tried to ignore the vast amounts of water that she could hear lapping at the foundations of Ahto City. Jolee was talking to the distraught Human woman who had appeared out of nowhere soon after they had cleared immigration. She was not certain what the Human woman wanted, but guessed that some deeply personal grievance or trouble was involved. Perhaps a missing whelp or mate? Either would account for the desperate manner in which the woman clutched at Jolee's sleeves and shook him, imploring his aid. Certainly it had to be a... sensitive topic, or Jolee would not have requested that she and... Bastila's special friend keep a discreet distance.

Bastila's Special Friend. Juhani twitched her right ear and looked around to see where he had gone to. She spotted him standing by the guard-rails, gazing into the distance. How is Bastila getting along with him now? Juhani thought this might be a good time to find out.

"I see you are much in thought," she remarked casually as she approached the guard rails and tentatively peered over the side at the fathomless deep below. Freaky...! She quickly diverted her gaze elsewhere.

The Jedi exhaled softly. "Yes, I am." He looked down at the guard rail and thumped it absentmindedly.

"Bastila?"

The Jedi nodded. "...you were right, Juhani."

"Oh?" Another nod. Looks to be serious, this, thought Juhani. She tilted her head and looked at the Jedi searchingly. "Would it help for me to listen?"

"I suppose it would." The Jedi gazed out over the vastness of Manaan's surface for a while before continuing. "We... had a talk. Bastila... and I." Juhani nodded encouragingly. "She told me that..." - the Jedi broke off and smiled ruefully - "...that I, I mean something... to her. In_ that_ way. You know?"

"Mmm hmm."

"...made me very... very glad to hear it. And we, ah - well... we talked, and she was... worried. About... having these feelings? That they might be dangerous, Dark, even - which I _don't_ agree with... she knows. Then we... we, um, and I thought, well, looks like we've... sorted ourselves out at last - and next thing I know, she's saying it was all a mistake, it was all wrong... and she ran off." He pursed his lips into a grimace. "_Bugger_."

Juhani listened to her colleague's narration with great interest. Humans, she decided, were a very strange species. They lived comparatively short lives, and yet filled their brief existences with one needless complication after another. This now, for example. Mating. With a Cathar couple it would be so simple and efficient: you like me, I like you, we go on hunt together to decide on compatibility, mutual expressions of intent... mate for life.

Humans, on the other hand? Not enough that boy likes girl and girl likes boy. Boy has to butter up the girl, spend many credits... try to please her in every way. Girl? She paints her face, wears silly clothes, all to excite his interest. Waste much time dancing around each other, to see holovids, eat terrible food... on and on and on. The worst was that Humans did not seem to think a mate was for life. Some of the Humans she had seen on Taris changed mates with impunity. For one terrible moment, she wondered if Bastila and her Special Friend were of that last persuasion. Eww! Juhani turfed the disquieting thought out of her head.

"Did Bastila say why?"

The Jedi shook his head. "No. Just that she'd made a mistake, that we should never have... 'given in to our passion'."

Juhani gasped in alarm, and the Jedi realised that he'd been misunderstood. "I didn't - I mean, we - _didn't_...! You know. Sleep! _Together_. If... that's what... you're... thinking. Which I... can see you... are." Juhani peered at him, unconvinced.

Just bloody great, he told himself. Got to pick your words real carefully when talking about matters of the heart to a Cathar. Otherwise they tend to get all sorts of ideas you don't want them to... "Honest, Juhani...! I _swear_ I didn't touch her. **Honest**. We only kissed."

"_Only_ kissed?" They were all right, then. Juhani relaxed a little. "Is not that a good thing?"

"She said it was a mistake! What am I _supposed_ to think?"

The Cathar Jedi let out a little bark of amusement. "A very old Master once told me that possible it is too much to think. Sometimes, not to think, but to feel, is better. What do you feel?"

"...confusion, I guess. Yeah. And conflict. _Lots_ of it."

"You do not feel she dislikes you?"

"Much the opposite, actually."

"Well, then!" Juhani exclaimed. "She will come round bit by bit. Just to be patient and not to scare her, yes?"

The Jedi looked at his feet and turned the Cathar's words over in his mind. Good advice, that. He looked at her through the fringe of hair falling over his eyes. "You're right again, Juhani. Force...! How do you _know_ these things?"

Juhani raised an eyebrow. "Because I am a _woman_, you stupid man."

* * *

  
Later that evening, the crew assembled to hear Jolee relate the day's events.

"Let me get this straight - this man, this... Sunry - he... he had an affair? With a _Sith_?" Bastila asked incredulously. "But he - the man's a _Republic war hero_!"

Jolee stroked his beard and nodded. "Elora - that's his missus - didn't elaborate. I'd hardly expect her to, what with... but anyway. Moment of weakness, bored with life... bored with his wife - who knows?"

"_Bored_ with his _wife_?" spat Juhani. "Then deserves he to _rot_! Any being who would desert their mate - _pfft_!" Snarling in disgust, Juhani turned aside and hissed emphatically.

The Jedi raised a hand to catch Jolee's attention. "Saw her talking to you for quite a while - did she ask for help?"

"That she did, my boy, that she did." The wrinkles on Jolee's wizened forehead deepened. "Wants us to 'get the truth'. And 'get justice' for Sunry." He puffed out his cheeks and picked at an old scab on the back of his left hand. "And that's a problem."

A girlish voice piped up. "Hey! _Justice_? The _truth_? That's like, okay, right? As in, justice and truth and, like, bein' real - that's the deal, ain't it? And Jedi are all about, like truth and justice and keepin' the peace, right? So what's the big problem, huh?"

Bastila stopped fiddling with the edge of her tabbard and frowned. "Sunry. He - you said he had a spot of bother... in a hotel. And, someone - well, the Sith - she was shot. I take it he's being investigated for murder?"

Jolee sighed. "Yes. He is. Now, I don't know the next thing about what _actually_ happened - but I have a bad feeling about it. The truth... may not be what Elora wants to hear. And I don't think she'd be particularly thrilled if it came to _that_, and _actual justice_ got done, is all I'm sayin'."

"Ask no questions, get told no lies," muttered Carth as he polished his boots. "Do what you think is right, Jolee. But don't let Elora - or anyone! - use you." He paused with his mouth open, as though he might say more, then shook his head and returned to polishing his boots with renewed vigour.

"So Sunry's being investigated for murder, and his wife has effectively asked us to get him off the hook - no, Mission that's **precisely** what she's asking for - which, depending on what investigations reveal, may or may not be possible. Or appropriate. Hmm." The Jedi sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, thinking.

"My two credits' worth - we lose nothing by helping to investigate. Look at the odds - if Sunry's truly innocent, you can bet your bottom credit that the Sith won't stand for it. They'll... rig proceedings, destroy evidence... intimidate witnesses - the usual. A conviction will be inevitable. And then they'll milk the verdict for all it's worth. We can't let that happen. On the other hand... " - his eyebrows knit themselves together as he ran a hand through his hair - "...say Sunry's really guilty. What then? Republic war hero, decorated soldier... the Sith will have a field day! It'll be embarrassing, to say the least. All that we can do then is conduct an exercise in damage limitation. I'm sure the Sith have dirty little secrets of their own that could use an airing. But we can only do that if we get involved."

The minutes ticked by slowly as the crew of the Ebon Hawk pondered Jolee's report and the Jedi's analysis of the situation. Finally, Bastila broke the silence. "There is no denying the logic of your reasoning. I think... I think it is our _duty_... as Jedi, to assist. I... will come with you." Her fingers worried the edge of her tabbards unconsciously.

"Fine. You have persuaded me. We involve ourselves," Juhani conceded at length. "_Still_ I think he is a scum. But perhaps I have too high standards."

"Count me out of this shit," blurted Canderous. "Investigations, court proceedings - bloody _lawyers_ running all over the shop. _Bloody lawyers_. Can't stand the sight of 'em."

Carth sat up at the mention of 'lawyers'. "Hey - buddy - Mandalorian's right. _Lawyers_. You... planning on instructing one? No offence, buddy - but they don't come cheap..."

_["I have heard that beings may act for themselves in Manaan,"] _said Zaalbar. _["The Selkath have been rumoured to provide lawyers for free. But I do not know if it is wise to trust someone you are not even paying."]  
_  
Canderous snorted derisively. "You _can't_ always trust the people you _do_ pay. Or those who pay you. First thing you learn as a merc."

"Ahem." Jolee cleared his throat and spoke authoritatively. "Bad feelings aside, the boy's right. We _have_ to get involved." He winked at Carth, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Juhani noticed the exchange and gave Zaalbar a knowing look.

"We need someone with an eye for the detail," said Juhani. She nudged Bastila slyly. Bastila's eyes widened and her mouth formed a silent 'oh'.

"A convincing speaker, with charisma," added Carth.

"Erm, yes. _Yes_, of course. Ah... someone... _very_ intelligent. And logical. Law is about... logic... mostly. I think." Juhani stifled a snort of amusement as Bastila stumbled over her words.

Ever quick on the uptake, Mission volunteered her input next. "Yeah! Smart and, uh... remembers _lots_ of stuff, and yeah! It's gotta be someone all of us can trust, I mean, there's like a _zillion_ Sith here or something and -"

_["A good listener,"]_ interrupted Zaalbar.

"Offer: I can be of assistance. Meatbags answer **so** much better when one points a gun at them..."

"**No**, HK!" chorused everyone. HK-47's processor lights dimmed in disappointment.

Jolee rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Right - okay, I think that settles it. Eye for detail, charismatic, good speaker, lots of brains, trustworthy, a listener... oh! I think we have a candidate right... _here_." He ruffled the Jedi's hair affectionately.

Many years later, Bastila would quip that the only people who could validly claim to have "done Revan one over" were a bunch of geriatric Jedi Masters and the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_.


	10. Chapter 10

It was very late in the day when the Jedi, Bastila and Carth returned to the _Ebon Hawk_. Jolee had met them on the ramp, eager to know what new facts their investigations into Sunry's case might have turned up.

In a rare display of empathy, Bastila had gently taken the old man aside and shared what little they had managed to discover in hushed tones: following a brief audience with the Selkath High Court, they had had the briefest of interviews with Elora, who - predictably - had been less than forthcoming about her husband's recent movements, preferring to dwell at length instead on his career with the Republic army and hero status. After that, it had been lots of going back and forth between the hotel at which the killing had taken place, and the Republic embassy itself. The hotel staff and residents had been hostile and fearful, and it had taken the Order's newest recruit all of his persuasive skill to coax their accounts from them.

The prognosis, Bastila opined, was not good. _Especially_ given the contents of what they'd stumbled across in one of the computers in the Republic embassy itself.

Jolee's shoulders sagged a little when he heard this. Sunry was an old friend, a _good_ man - once. But people changed, and not always for the _better_. Perhaps Sunry had truly changed, too. A pity. The old Jedi's heart ached within him as he thought of the many good and noble people he had known in his life - people whom he had befriended, people he had trusted... even _loved_ - people who had, suddenly and unaccountably, changed and lost themselves entirely in the process. He shook his head sadly and thanked Bastila, before proceeding to the pantry for some privacy.

Bastila retired to the women's cabin unusually early, deeply troubled. She did not even come out for dinner.

* * *

  
The Jedi closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall, letting the water flow freely over his body. Nothing like a hot shower to clear one's mind. _Lawyering_...! Boy, did he _need_ to clear his mind... so _many_ details to remember... facts, witnesses, who said they saw what, _where_... _when_... no wonder lawyers charged an arm and a leg for their work!

Lawyering was _not_ something the Jedi thought he'd like to make a habit of. Following the utter shock of having been 'appointed' counsel for Sunry, no thanks to Jolee and everyone on board the _Ebon Hawk_, he'd had to brave the full-on assault of what had essentially been a crash course in the fundamentals of Selkath jurisprudence, courtesy of T3-M4. His head throbbed painfully with the recollection.

Who could have imagined that Davik Kang would've actually kept a copy of Professor Z. Azzamezz's_ Compendium of Galactic Legal Systems_ in the _Ebon Hawk_'s database? Eh... on second thought, actually that makes a **lot** of sense - Davik _had been_ a gang lord, after all - you can break all of the rules some of the time, and some of the rules all of the time; but **never** all of the rules _all_ of the time. A muffled voice coming from outside the 'fresher broke through his reverie.

"Oi! Force-boy! Some of us need a piss!" Only Canderous would talk like that. Reluctantly, the Jedi stepped out of the shower and reached for his towel.

"One minute, Canderous!" Deciding that he could dry himself and dress just as efficiently in the men's cabin, the Jedi hurriedly made himself decent, gathered up his clothes and pressed the door switch. Canderous wasn't a patient man at the best of times, and Force knew what a Canderous with a full bladder would be like.

"'Bout bloody time - worse than a kriffing _woman_," grumped Canderous as he pushed past the Jedi into the 'fresher. "What the _kark_ did you do in here - whole place is kriffing _wet_!"

"Sorry, Canderous." Scurrying along the corridor, the Jedi made his way to the men's cabin as fast as his legs would take him. Mercifully, he did not run into any of the females along the way. Once in the safety of the men's cabin, he dressed himself and sat on his bunk to think.

Tomorrow, they would investigate the Sith embassy... see if anything useful or interesting could be gained thereat. And _then_ there was the matter of how he was supposed to present his case in Court - procedure... formalities...? The Jedi frowned. He wasn't sure if he was required to make an opening speech - _did the Selkath do that_? And what of closing arguments? Oral, or _written_? Sweet _Force_..! Would he be expected to provide formal, written submissions? What did the Selkath judges want - pure argumentation, or carefully-researched and footnoted pieces of academia? He hoped that it would not be the latter - this whole lawyer thing was Olys Corellisi to him, he wouldn't know _where_ to start - much less _which cases_, if any, to quote as precedent... oh, bugger - that was _another_ problem - **precedent**...! The Selkath - what was that in the _Compendium_ again? About the system of laws used in Manaan? ...did he actually read something about 'time bars' or did he just imagine it? Hang on, did any of those 'time bar' things even _apply_ in the present case!

The pounding in the back of his head was reaching epic proportions. The Jedi rubbed his temples in annoyance. There would be no sleeping tonight, of that he was certain.

* * *

  
Bastila turned in her bunk restlessly. Every nerve in her brain seemed to be on fire. Her heart - she could literally hear it pounding in the stillness of the room. Try as she might, she had failed to attain a state of relaxation which would allow her to drift into slumber. _Why_? Why did she have to keep coming up - running into situations - smack in... into circumstances where she'd been _forced_ to re-evaluate so _many_ of her most cherished beliefs? Why didn't the Masters _prepare_ her for this? Why were there so many _grey_ areas? Why did she just end up with _more and more questions_, never the wiser? Were there even _any_ answers at all? Answers that she could **accept**? There _are _answers, surely there _must_ be... but you don't want to know them. _Why not_?

Jolee. She had shared their findings with him. The news had saddened him - clearly the man did not make a habit of suppressing his emotions, for she had been able to feel them through the Force. Sadness - _such_ sadness! And regret... for a great many things, but always over people. People he'd known and cared deeply for. People who had changed, and betrayed themselves in so doing. _Change_. Revan.

**Revan**!

Change - Revan _had_ changed, once. It was common knowledge. Proverbial, even. Revan was the poster boy for how good, upstanding Jedi could go horribly, _terribly_ wrong. Every Padawan was well-acquainted with his tragedy - surely one who had fallen so far, so hard, could _not_ change? But he _had_. Was it_ truly_ change, though, if it had been - she shuddered - foisted upon him... _forced_ upon him, unsolicited, uninvited? Wasn't change a _choice_? It had to be _made_, **voluntarily**. The Masters had not given Revan that chance. It was... shameful. Bastila hugged her spare pillow tighter.

...had _she_, too, changed? Of _course_ she had. No more the... idealistic child-woman she had been at the start of this mission, ready to spout the received wisdom of the Masters with nary a second thought. Ready to judge, to take things almost entirely at their surface value. Bastila cringed at the memory of what she now thought of as her 'younger self' - though in truth, only a few standard months had elapsed since... since the _Endar Spire_. The beginning. Or had that been the _end_? It had been both, she now realised. The beginning of a path upon which questions had sprung up readily, like weeds - and the end of golden, honeyed days of simply taking all she had learnt, all the wisdom of the Masters, for granted. So very, _very_ painful.

If she _had _changed, was she... better _now_, as a person - as a _Jedi_! - than she had been _before_? She did not know what to think - she did not dare to pursue that line of thought. _Tatooine_. She had learnt much about herself then, about how far she had been willing to go to satisfy her own petty little vendetta; the veil had been torn from off the mirror and for the first time, she looked into her inmost and saw a chimera. Not a _chimera_, please...! That is _not_ what I am! I am not - that is not all that I am... But it _is a part_ of you, Bastila. And you fed it for _years_ with your anger, and your pain, and your hate. Oh, yes. _Hate_. Will you deny it now? You cannot.

Shame swept over Bastila like a dark, engulfing wave. Yes, she had cherished her resentment, nourished it, dwelt upon it, given it harbour in her heart - and it had silently grown over the years and matured into something dark and forbidden. But she had chosen _otherwise_ in the end, hadn't she? _Only because Revan was there to hold your hand_, the jarring thoughts sneered. Was that true? Would she - could she - have made a choice to... change, had Revan not been there? Now, with all that in the past, had she changed for the better? Given up the old vendetta, never to feed any resentment again?

Bastila did not know. It frightened her not to have any answers.

The Jedi **never** change, she told herself. Oh, they don't, do they? Remember when you saw old Master Sunrider? Who did she have with her? Yes, that is right - you saw old Master Nomi Sunrider with her _daughter_. Master Vima Sunrider. Didn't old Master Sunrider marry a Jedi? Yes, she did. And so did Master Vima. As did many other Masters you know... Masters from Coruscant, Dantooine, _everywhere_. Jedi Masters - good, solid folk, all. And they fell in love and _married_ and had children of their own. _Families_. But that is _not _what your Master taught you, is it? How consistent...! No, your Master taught you that love - marriage, a family - are forbidden to Jedi. Love and all it brings are attachments, and attachments are to be studiously avoided. They lead to the Dark Side.

_Or do they_?

The more she tried to resolve it, the more her confusion multiplied, and the deeper grew the abyss of uncertainty that threatened to swallow her whole. How she wished that she could return to the halcyon days of blessed simplicity and ignorance...! You are forgetting the Code, chided the sneering voice. '_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge_', it repeated. Bastila shivered in spite of the blanket she had wrapped around her. Ignorance was no longer hers to plead, but neither could she claim to possess the knowledge that ought to have taken its place.

Bastila passed a fitful night, and was glad when the morning came.

* * *

  
"You're going to the _Sith _embassy and you're **not** taking HK-47 with you?" asked the Republic officer incredulously. "But - you - buddy! That place - is _crawling_ with Sith soldiers and _war droids_ and what not - maybe even a bunch of_ Dark Jedi_ - you **can't** be serious -" Carth sputtered.

"I am. Don't worry about it, Carth. Bastila and Juhani are coming with me." Bending over, the Jedi tucked in the loose ends of his boot laces securely.

"Protest: Master! This is _most_ unfair! The Sith are sure to resist! Why do you deny me the chance to illustrate to them the futility of their resistance?"

Sigh. Maybe he should put the search for a Pacifist Protocol Package at the top of their next agenda, thought the Jedi. HK's insatiable bloodlust and obsession with violence far exceeded even that of Canderous', and he'd long had the Mandalorian down as a basket case. "HK, this is **Manaan**. The Selkath enforce a _very_ strict policy of neutrality! Any infraction of that policy is a capital offence."

"Lament: You do not trust me, Master."

Trust! That psychotic droid was talking to him about _trust_! The Jedi did not know whether he should laugh or be horrified. "Actually, HK - I _do_ trust you. _More_ than... you think I do. I have simply... evaluated the situation and... concluded that your, ah - _expertise_ and _reliability_... should serve nobl - I mean, _greater_ - causes, than mere... infiltration."

HK-47's central core processor hummed as he processed his Master's words. Greater causes? Expertise and reliability - the Master trusted him, evidently... The droid began running a complex logarithm to determine the import of what he had just been told. Bingo!

"Comprehension: Ah, Master! You are very wise, Master! I understand. You wish to cause _unbridled mayhem and chaos_ within the Sith embassy, but are aware that the fishy meatbags will be watching! Leaving me behind would give you deniability if the fishy meatbags were to ask questions. After all, I _am_ the very model of assassination expertise and the reliability of my termination protocols are_ beyond_ doubt, as many of my targets would testify... if they were alive! I must say, Master, you possess some _very admirable droid-like qualities_..."

"Ah, erm - well, yes. That too, HK. Thank you." Ignoring the barely-suppressed sniggers emanating from where Bastila and Juhani stood waiting, he stood and readjusted his utility belt. Carth gestured at the second lightsaber which hung from his waist.

"_Two_? I thought you only built the one?"

The Jedi shrugged. "Yeah. This one's... recycled. Bit strange. For a while now I've had the sense that I was missing _something_ - and then I tried out a few moves with two lightsabers instead of one, and it was like... coming home. You know what I mean? ...no, you don't. Well, kind of like - as if I'd _always_ used two, you know? Which is weird, because _obviously_ I haven't..."

"Did you change the crystal?" asked Bastila suddenly.

"For my old one, you mean? Yeah - but I left the new lightsaber as it was. Oh yes - nearly forgot..." The Jedi retrieved a glowing yellow crystal from one of his pockets and gave it to Bastila. "For you, Princess. I'm using a violet crystal... it just felt right. Nice colour combination, see? Red and violet go wonderfully together..." The Jedi unhooked both lightsabers from his belt and activated them, bathing the _Ebon Hawk_'s workshop in a sultry maroon glow.

"Sexy!" cooed Mission approvingly.

"Ha ha ha..! Not exactly what I had in mind, Mission - but I know what you mean," laughed the Jedi as he deactivated both lightsabers and returned them to his belt.

Bastila felt her stomach knot itself together. Two lightsabers - one red, one violet - that was what Revan had been known to carry... both before... and after. She swallowed.

_Revan's memories were starting to return_.

* * *

  
A few hours later, Bastila and Juhani stood over two fresh Dark Jedi corpses in a large meditation chamber located at the heart of the Sith embassy. A third corpse fell to the floor with a dull thud, its head rolling to a stop a short distance from it.

The Jedi deactivated his weapons and surveyed the grim scene. "I hate disintegrations," he said. "This one gave me no alternative." He stepped back into the meditation chamber and immediately turned his attention to the three footlockers it contained. Some armour... stims... a grenade... Then he methodically searched the bodies of the slain Dark Jedi. A datapad! Bastila and Juhani crowded in to read it.

"...project... apprentices in training... Selkath! Shasa..." the Cathar Jedi frowned. "This is a list of names - some roster, I think. Of the whelps they have taken." She bared her fangs. "Is there more?"

Bastila scanned the lines of text appearing on the datapad. "There is. The - the Sith were... taking Force-sensitive Selkath youth and... training them. Here. To... 'liberate' Manaan." She looked up. "_Krayts among banthas_!"

The Jedi nodded. "Looks like we got here just in time. This is very, **very** dirty. Force knows how far along this plot has gone. Come! We need to show this to those poor children!" He set off down the corridor without another word.

Convincing the young Sith aspirants that they had been pawns was not easy, even with the datapad. There had been cries of outrage and disbelief at the start, with some even voicing the opinion that it was 'all a test from the Masters'. All this changed when Juhani produced a token which a dying Selkath had pressed into her palm earlier: one of the aspirants immediately recognised it as a childhood token of friendship and regard and bolted for the medical room, her companions in tow. Shrieks and wails soon echoed along the narrow corridors of the training cubicles as the Selkath youth found the bloody confirmation of what they had been told. None of the young Selkath decided to stay a moment longer in the embassy, and within a matter of minutes, Bastila, Juhani and their amnesiac companion found themselves alone with the problem of how to get out of the embassy undetected.

It was impossible, of course. When they stepped, blinking, into the brightness of the reception lobby, the three Jedi found themselves under arrest and arraigned before the Selkath High Court on charges of breaching neutrality.

"You may defend yourself, though it would be advisable were you to allow an Arbiter to represent you," one of the presiding Judges informed them. "The Arbiter will do so for free."

Bastila and Juhani conferred briefly and whispered to their colleague that this would be a good opportunity for him to hone his litigation skills by watching a real professional. Point, thought the Jedi. "We'll take the Arbiter," he told the Judge.

* * *

  
They returned to the _Ebon Hawk_ late the following afternoon. Juhani literally ran to the shower as soon as she boarded the _Ebon Hawk_, pulling off the bands which kept her hair in a ponytail as she went. Bastila made a beeline for the pantry. Doubtless she was after her favourite curative, the Jedi said to himself. Tea. The idea was starting to appeal greatly to him, as a matter of fact. Mission and Jolee watched expectantly as he peeled off his boots and tossed them aside.

"Glad to see you made it back, sonny." Jolee's gruff voice had a note of concern in it.

"Me too. Took us straight to the courthouse. These Selkath sure don't waste time..." With a grunt, the Jedi pulled off one sock and then the other. Then he lay spread-eagled on the workshop floor and stared up at the ceiling, exhausted.

Mission squatted beside the Jedi and poked him in the side with a small wrench she was holding. "What's the story, huh?"

"We actually got to front desk without any problems. Then one of the officers in the embassy decided he wanted to shoot us, and things kind of went downhill from there. So we deci - _ow_!" Mission poked the Jedi in the side with the wrench again.

"Everyone knows about _that_ already," she informed him. "It was all over, like, the Holonet feed last night? With pictures and stuff. _Man_! You guys really kicked some butt, huh? No wonder they totally arrested your asses," the Twi'lek girl concluded. "You guys got hauled up, yeah? Man! Did they, like, give you lawyers and stuff?"

"...they did - not much bloody use, if you ask me. The chap was a _complete_ joke! How _any_ law school could have unleashed a moron of such epic proportions on society, I just don't know...!" The Jedi sat up and started talking animatedly. "He barely acquired the material facts from us, was more interested in the sound of _his own voice_ than in doing any _real_ listening - and he _wasn't_ looking for anything that might have, you know... helped put our actions in the _proper_ light. Like the fact that the Sith had started training Force-sensitive Selkath youth in secret, intending to use them to overthrow the local government!"

Jolee let out a bark of surprise. "**Honestly**? That's dirty, my boy. Very dirty. And you have proof?"

"Wouldn't have said it if I didn't, old man," replied the Jedi. "The proof's right here." He drew a datapad out of the folds of his tunic and handed it to Jolee, who read its contents in silence.

"I... take it you will be... putting this to good use? Forget it. Rhetorical question. I'm old, anyway!"

Mission poked the Jedi with the wrench again to get his attention. "Forget datapads, man. So what happened next? They, like, gave you a lousy lawyer? And then what?"

"So I fired him."

"_Whoa_..." Mission whistled. "And then you guys, like, spoke for _yourselves_?" Her eyes widened as the Jedi nodded in affirmation. "That's, like, **hardcore**, man...!"

Jolee snorted. "Hnnh. Practice makes perfect, as us old geezers like to say... hey! Go tear up a few more Sith buildings, son. Then you'll be the _best_ Arbiter Sunry could hope to have..."

The Jedi laughed, appreciating the irony. "You're crazy, old man."


	11. Chapter 11

Two days later, the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ sat eating breakfast together in the cargo hold. During their sojourn on Manaan, Canderous had observed that the planet seemed to be attracting more mercenaries than would be expected for a politically-neutral system, and had come to certain conclusions. He now aired these opinions.

"This place is fishy, and I don't mean the Selkath." Canderous ripped open a box of supplies, felt around in it and drew out a packet of _Tatooine-Style Nerf Jerky_. He bit into a corner of the thick plastiwrap covering and jerked his head sharply, ripping it open. Several good-sized pieces of jerky fell to the floor. The Mandalorian and Republic officer bumped heads as they bent to pick up the scattered morsels.

"You're not actually going to **eat** that now, are you?" exclaimed Bastila. "They've been on the _floor_!.. next to Carth's _boots_ - Carth wears his boots to the **'fresher**...!"

Jolee laughed. "Oh, they _will_. Just you watch, lass." On cue, Carth and Canderous popped the strips of meat into their mouths and chewed avidly. Bastila made a face and turned aside in disgust.

"As I was saying, this place is fishy - _loads_ of mercs have been turnin' up" - swallow, take another bite of nerf jerky - "and this is supposed to be a _neutral_ system. _Obviously_ one side is playing at something. Two questions: _who, and what_?" Canderous finished his sentence with a loud belch. "Sorry."

Juhani rolled her eyes. Such coarse behaviour! "What do you wish to do about it?"

"Investigate. There's a cantina roundabouts where all the mercs hang out. Gonna drop by. See what I can pick up," replied Canderous as he extracted another packet of jerky from the box. "We've already got the Sith on our asses, and I'll be a Kowakian monkey-lizard's uncle before I let those bastards start sneakin' on us!"

"For once I'm in agreement with the bucket-head," said Carth. "You saw what they did to Taris! There's no telling how far the Sith are willing to go to get their hands on Her Royalness here. You too, buddy - you've managed to put plenty water up their noses already: double-digit Dark Jedi body count and all..."

"Hey!_ They_ were hunting _us_ down - not the other way round! Not as if I had much choice," the Jedi protested.

Jolee grunted. "Won't matter even if you _did_, son." He turned his attention to Canderous, who was well into the nerf jerky. "You do just what you proposed, Ordo. But be careful. It's possible we're being watched."

Carth wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and sucked his teeth. "I'll pop round to the Republic embassy here. Got a friend there - Roland Wann. He might know a thing or two."

"I won't be able to go with you, Carth," said the Jedi. "Sunry's trial starts in the afternoon, and I need to put my arguments together. Bastila has said she will assist me. Jolee or Juhani could go with you, if you like -"

Jolee shook his head. "Uh-uh - I'm going to be sitting in the gallery."

Mission waved excitedly. "Carth! I can go with you! ...or I can, like, go with Canderous, no problem. Cantinas and me get along just fine, right, Big Z?"

_["You're underage, Mission! I keep telling you that!"]_

The Twi'lek teen frowned and pinched Zaalbar. "Shut up...! And I keep _telling_ you I got my back covered on that, yeah?"

_["Only because you produce fake ID and bribe the bouncers!"]_ Zaalbar countered. Juhani growled and shook her finger sternly at Mission.

"There is to be _no more_ of this bribing and faking the identichips!" she scolded. "Carth and Canderous do _not_ need trouble about you getting caught! We do _not_ need you in the Court also! Me, I will stay to look after the _Ebon Hawk_. I do not... like to leave only droids, in case the Sith decide to visit. Mission will stay with me."

_["I will also stay to defend the ship,"]_ stated the Wookiee. Mission gave Zaalbar a black look and mumbled rudely under her breath, but did not argue.

"Fine by me. I prefer going to cantinas alone, anyway." Canderous emptied the last bits of nerf jerky into his mouth and tossed the packet.

Carth nodded. "I'm good too. Besides, Roland is likely to say more if it's just me he sees."

The impromptu breakfast meeting broke up soon afterwards, with people leaving either to pursue different lines of inquiry, 'get up' for trial, check on the ship's alarm and area-defense systems, or simply meditate. Mission grumbled to herself as she swept the cargo hold.

It **sucks** being fourteen, she groused. Everyone treats you like you're some dumb _kid_. Don't do this, don't do that! But someday - _someday!_ - I'll be **fifteen**, and then I'll show 'em! Chucking the broom aside, Mission fantasised about how awesome and, like, totally cool it - she! - would be, when she was, like, fifteen. Better still, _sixteen_! Whoa! People would totally take her seriously then because she'd be, like, _a lot taller_. Hopefully. Would her lekku have, like, grown out already? A daft grin plastered itself across Mission's face as she imagined herself at the grand old age of sixteen, lekku beautifully grown out, her rutian complexion the envy of Twi'lek women from Ryloth to Nar Shaddaa... _boys, lots of boys_! ...Twi'lek boys? Hmm, maybe. They'd have to be _awfully_ cute, though... and wear nice clothes, and come with their own airspeeder. Yeah! One of those classy Coruscanti models with polished chrome headlights and a little angel figurine in front, ooh...

"Dishes do not wash themselves, Mission!"

The dreamy visions vanished into thin air. _Stupid cat-woman! Stupid dishes!_ Mission pouted and tromped off to the pantry to complete her chores. She couldn't wait to turn sixteen...

* * *

"...the _Compendium_?"

"Check."

"Precedents?"

"Right here." Bastila fished a blue datapad out of the box at her feet and showed it to the former Republic soldier. He nodded in acknowledgement, frowned and continued to read off a list.

"Okay, so... we have reference materials... there... and, um... our skeletal arguments are in Zaalbar's datapad - the orange one - also my opening preamble, and a bunch of stuff that we want to ask our witnesses... _witnesses_! Have you got our witness list there?"

Bastila held up both index fingers, shut her eyes and frowned. "I think so... ah, it's - oh yes, it's in with the sworn statements. In my datapad. The white one." Her eyes flew open and she breathed a sigh of relief. **Madness**! This going-to-Court business was madness! Bastila didn't think she'd _ever_ had to write or do as much serious research as she had done in the twenty-four hours following their acquittal on charges of breaching neutrality. And she was only _assisting_! Poor Revan, she thought. I haven't any right to complain, really. He's the one who drew the short straw - he's the Arbiter. He's going to have to stand up in front of three - _no, five!_ - judges of the Selkath High Court and talk law and argue on it... I don't envy him. How's he even managing to keep it all straight?

"...check... statements, check... hmm... recording, check..." Mumbling to himself, the Jedi worried at his hairline as he re-checked the boxes to make sure that nothing had been left out. Bastila hovered by his side, chewing her lip.

"Are you... I mean, I don't mean to disturb, but um... that recording? Uh... I think there's a _very_ good reason why the embassy kept it secret. You... you're not _actually_ thinking of using that, are you?"

"I... would prefer not to, of course. Unfortunately, being... an 'Arbiter' under Selkath law makes me an 'officer of the Court', apparently. And um, they've got some kind of strict rule about not 'misleading the Court'. Suppressing evidence which is relevant is, well, a serious offence."

"Oh." Bastila's shoulders sagged. Not good. From their researches thus far, she knew that if the Court - or, worse, the Sith prosecutor - demanded production of the recording, Revan would be obliged to disclose it. And then Sunry would be totally in the soup. How his wife would take it, she did not want to imagine.

Sensing her worry, the Jedi halted his examination of the box and its contents. "Princess?" Bastila blinked at him, her forehead furrowed.

"Huh?"

"Oh, you. Come here," the Jedi said, as he put an arm around Bastila's shoulders and led her to the pantry. "I think you need a tea."

He sat Bastila down and proceeded to make her a mug of tea, talking as he did so. "You're right - it would be _very_ black on Sunry were the recording to go in. But... I think we've got a good chance of getting the recording excluded altogether - even if its production were to be demanded. There was some legislation... I made a note of it. Worth a shot, at any rate."

"...what if they decide to keep it?" questioned Bastila. She received the tea from Revan with a nod of thanks. "What do we do then?"

The Jedi sighed and massaged the back of his neck. A serious crick had developed in it over the past few days. Ouch. "Well... we... will have to convince the Court that it's... unreliable."

"_Unreliable_! But - but - you... that's, that's a _recording_!"

"I know."

"And it shows Sunry shooting that Sith woman - in the back!"

"It does."

"While she was lying on the bed!"

"Face down, as I recall it."

"_Exactly_! How's that **not** murder?"

"How long is the recording, Princess?"

Bastila tried to remember. "Erm, about... fifteen - no, twelve - minutes long, just about."

"Hmm. And the bit with Sunry and the shooting - that lasted only, what - twenty seconds at the most?"

"Ye-es."

"Right. So there's some six minutes before Sunry comes into the room and shoots Elassa - and he's out in under twenty seconds - and then there's_ another_ five or so minutes of footage, before Gluupor enters the room. Yes?"

"Mmm-hmm. But -" the Jedi motioned to Bastila to listen.

"Princess, what was Elassa doing for the six minutes before Sunry entered?" asked the Jedi.

"Nothing. She... was just lying there, she wasn't even moving," replied Bastila. "But I don't see how that's even _relevant_! Gluupor's not relevant either, I mean - the recording literally shows a murder! Gluupor entering the room is - well - it's _circumstantial_, at best!"

"Precisely. _She. Was. Lying. There._ And she was **not** moving! That's _all_ the recording shows! _That's all Sunry saw_ - he didn't even go near her! Does - so, can the recording prove, _actually prove_, that Elassa was **alive** when she was lying there?"

"No - " A light went on in Bastila's head. My goodness - it's so _obvious_ now that he's said it - by the Force...! How did I not think of this? _Genius_...! I would hate to play dejarik with Revan, Bastila thought excitedly. Her heart started pounding. "_Oh, my goodness_ - you - that's... wow! You're right! Sunry may have just shot a... _a dead body_! Which... which _can't_ be murder, because... because Elassa would _already have been dead_, right? And the murderer is _someone else_! Um, but - but what if they decide that it's **attempted** murder? Do we have any answer for that?" The words tumbled out of her mouth and she was out of breath before she knew it.

The charming grin was back on Revan's face, and Bastila knew the answer even before he nodded. She squealed excitedly and knocked over her mug of tea as she jumped up to hug him. The Jedi laughed heartily and hugged her back. "Calm down, Princess! You have to keep this all very, **very** quiet - it'll stand a far better chance of working for us if you don't give _any_ of your thoughts or feelings away - don't let the Sith or the Court 'read' you, okay? Sabacc face! Remember that. _No emotion, just peace_ - you can do that, right?"

Bastila nodded vigourously. She was a Jedi - she could control herself! But right now, she just wanted to scream and jump, and hug Revan. Possibly even kiss him again - because he was so clever!

With an effort, Bastila peeled herself away from Revan and set her features into an expression of... nothing.

"I think you will be all right," she said calmly. "We should be going now."

Exiting the pantry, Bastila crossed the cargo hold, stopping only to pick up the box containing their 'getting up'.

* * *

Sunry's trial was in full swing. The Sith prosecutor, a thin, weedy man with a leering expression, had called all his witnesses and was now making an application to the Court.

"It has come to my attention that there is, in fact, a _recording_ of the... incident. It is believed that agents of the _Republic_ have since... _removed_ this recording. Doubtless this honourable Court will understand the great _reluctance_ of our Empire to... recover this _vital_ piece of evidence, on our own accord. We are, after all, _most respectful_ of Manaan's policy of neutrality. Perhaps..." The Sith turned and smiled at Bastila and the Jedi. It was a very unpleasant smile. "...perhaps the learned _Jedi_ will, in their quest to uphold _justice_, assist this Court?" Another leer.

The presiding judges huddled together momentarily, discussing the merits of the Sith prosecutor's application amongst themselves. "Application granted. The recording is to be produced, if it exists."

The Jedi retrieved the recording and handed it to a court orderly, who scurried over to the judges' bench with it. "Indeed there is a recording, Your Honours. I will be objecting to its admission as evidence, however."

"Grounds?" barked one of the judges.

"Two grounds, Sirs. Firstly, Your Honours are well aware of the provisions of" - the Jedi consulted his notes from a datapad Bastila pushed over - "...Section thirty-five of the Evidence Act. There has been **no** express agreement between my... learned friend and I to admit the recording in evidence. Neither has he produced _any certificate_ to show that the computer responsible for making this recording was _not_ malfunctioning at the relevant time. The charge faced by my client is a grave one, and I would be remiss in my duty as Arbiter were I not to insist on strict _proof_ that no reason exists to doubt or suspect the truth or reliability of the output, that is to say, this recording."

A murmur ascended from the bench as the Selkath judges conferred. "The Arbiter has made a point. Does the Prosecution have the mandatory certification?"

The Sith prosecutor had clearly been taken aback by the Jedi's argument. The Arbiters he was used to dealing with were largely incompetents, more interested in case-farming for their monthly stipends than in the art of litigation itself. He was, simply, unused to an Arbiter - much less a lay Arbiter - making this much sense. Or being this prepared. He went on the offensive.

"Certificate! This is _preposterous_ - is this Court going to believe that in a day and age of _advanced artificial intelligence_ interfaces, when computer systems operate _independently_ and are _self-policing_ - that something as **mundane** as... an error in recording could have occurred? What _absurdity_! Clearly the Arbiter is attempting to **pervert** the course of justice because he well knows" - the Sith prosecutor thumped the bar table for emphasis - "_he well knows that that recording will show that man_ - this Republic 'hero' - _shooting a defenceless woman in the back while she was lying on the bed_!"

Again the judges went into a huddle. "Objection overruled," one of them finally intoned. "What is written in law is written. It is not the function of the judiciary to set aside statute. Produce the necessary certification or proofs."

"Very well: I shall call one of my embassy's engineers to testify that the system was in full working order at the material time..." started the Sith prosecutor. Two of the Selkath Judges cut in.

"The relevant computer system was in the _hotel_ - not the Sith embassy," stated one.

"Why would a _Sith_ engineer be interested in _civilian_ computer equipment installed in a _neutral zone_?" queried the other.

A third member of the bench weighed in. "I find it **most** curious that a hidden camera was installed in a _hotel room_, of all places." The remaining two Selkath Judges nodded in unison.

"I - ah, well, our embassy's engineers are known to be amongst the galaxy's finest - they possess a wealth of experience, and... ah, are familiar with all the usual mainframe systems," offered the Sith prosecutor hastily.

The Jedi stood to speak. "If I may, Sirs?" The Judges nodded. "My learned friend's offer of his embassy's expertise is noted and much appreciated. However, this raises several troubling questions. One: how would a Sith engineer be able to vouch for the reliability of a system, the routine inspection of which - _presumably_ - he was not responsible for? Two: the appropriate engineer would be one under the employ of the hotel owner himself, but my witness has _already_ testified that he had no such persons under his employ. This, of course, raises the issue of why there was even a _camera_ hidden in a _guest room_ to start with. I believe I am well within my rights to state that the foregoing in itself raises _very serious_ questions about how the camera got to be in the hotel room..."

Red in the face with anger, the Sith prosecutor jumped up and started talking loudly. The Selkath Judges banged their mallets on the bench and called for order. "Parties to be seated! This Court will adjourn to consider the points raised."

The Sith prosecutor stalked out of the courtroom, shoving aside several members of the public who were milling about outside the courtroom door. Bastila watched him go with interest.

"He's going to give himself an aneurysm!"

"So far, so good... could you pass me the _Compendium_?" muttered the Jedi. "It's his funeral, not ours. Need to check one or two things..."

Bastila handed him another datapad and continued. "Do you think _they_ could have done it? Put in a camera on the sly, I mean."

"...irrelevant and deemed inadmissible... does not constitute proof - well,_ anything_'s possible, they're Sith..." The Jedi's head jerked up suddenly. "Did he say 'while lying on the bed' or did I just imagine it?"

Bastila stared at her companion. "Um... let me check." She scrolled through the text on her datapad, into which she had diligently typed a verbatim recording of the proceedings thus far. "Yes. Yes, he said that. '..._shooting a defenceless woman in the back while she was lying on the bed_.' That's it." She looked up. There was a hard glint in the Jedi's eyes that she'd never seen before - one which was simultaneously scary and reassuring.

"**Very** good," said the Jedi simply.

* * *

"Upon consideration of the evidence placed before it, and bearing in mind the principles enunciated in the cases of..." The lead Selkath Judge droned on monotonously as he read out his judgement. Bastila and the Jedi sat calmly, listening. The Sith prosecutor tapped an impatient rhythm on the bar table and ground his teeth. Cases, precedent... statutory interpretation, evidentiary principles... it was all very dense, and extremely hard listening, thought the Jedi. Imagine doing this for a living, _day in and day out_. Not for me - not for me! Very educational, but _extremely_ dry and tedious. He glanced over at Bastila, who was doing her level best to follow the Court's logic, and smiled at her.

"...we find that the Prosecution has not proved its case _beyond a reasonable doubt_. Accordingly, we _acquit_ the defendant, Sunry, of the charges. There will be no leave to appeal. Any orders as to exhibits?" The Jedi scrambled to his feet, as the warm glow of victory suffused itself throughout his being. "None, your Honours, save that the recording be forfeited for destruction."

"So ordered. This Court stands adjourned."

The Sith prosecutor leapt to his feet in a paroxysm of rage. Barging over to where the Jedi and Bastila stood, he pounded a fist into the bar table angrily. "This isn't over, _Jedi_!" he shouted. "You may have won this battle - but you, and your precious Republic - will lose the _war_. Do you hear me? _The war_!" As he exited the courtroom, the angry Sith kicked over a wastebox, scattering its contents over the floor.

"**Lovely** temperament, for a Sith." Jolee picked up the box into which their datapads and reference materials had been packed. He wore a huge grin on his face. "Congratulations, young man! If the Order decides to chuck you some day, you know you can always set up shop in Coruscant..."

Sunry grasped the Jedi's hand tremblingly and wrung it in relief. "_Thank you_ - thank you so, _so_ much...! I - I don't know how I can repay you - I... you've done _more_ than just give me my life back, I -" he shook his head, unable to continue.

"I'm not the one you owe a debt to, Sunry. You wronged your _wife_, and the Republic. Having an affair is bad enough on its own without consorting with the enemy," replied the Jedi. "Remember that two wrongs don't make a right." He shook Sunry's hand firmly.

"You're right," admitted Sunry. "I... I let myself get the better of me. How I wish I could turn back time! - but... I can't. I... I've hurt _so many_ people. I don't know _where_ to start again."

"Your wife needs you, old friend," Jolee told Sunry. "Charity starts at home. _Best_ advice I could give you now." The old Jedi and the disgraced Republic hero embraced. "Take care, old friend."

"Take care, Jolee. And... may the Force be with you. _All of you_." Broken, Sunry staggered out of the courtroom, aided by Elora, who kept looking back over her shoulder, mouthing her thanks.

"I think the press is outside the courtroom," Bastila said.

Jolee's tone was bitter. "'_Course_ they are. Bloody _kath hounds_, the lot of 'em! Can't leave folk alone to grieve, no siree! Gotta paste it all up on the _HoloNews_."

The Jedi shrugged. "Well, I don't know, Jolee. Even kath hounds have a function in the ecological system..." Grabbing a datapad, he headed out of the courtroom and straight into the media frenzy.

"Ladies! Gentlemen...! Attention please... thank you. Now, I'm sure you have all heard the verdict by now - innocent of all charges! And I'm sure you want to know what was in the recording, and why the Judges disallowed it?"

"Yes!" chorused the reporters.

"Briefly, the recording shows Mr. Sunry shooting a woman in the back. **However**! However - she had been lying on the bed motionless for _at least five minutes_ before my client entered the room. _Was she alive before my client shot her_? Further," - motioning for the crowd to remain silent, the Jedi raised his voice and continued - "...a most_ interesting_ slip was made by the Prosecution during the course of the proceedings. The notes of evidence will show that the Prosecution stated that the victim had been shot '_in the back while she was lying on the bed_'. Now, the Prosecution claims that it had **never** seen this recording as the recording was allegedly stolen - I mean, _removed_ - from the incident location **before** they could retrieve it. So I think the question may be validly asked: how did the Prosecution know that the victim had been_ shot while she was lying on the bed_? They took **no** statements from my client! The Prosecution have not even _seen_ the recording, which in fact _does_ show my client shooting the victim as she lay face-down on the bed."

"Arbiter! Do you mean to say that the woman may have been _dead_ before your client entered the room?" called out a reporter.

"That is certainly a possibility," replied the Jedi. The victim **never moved** in the recording - both before and after my client shot her."

Another voice shouted. "Did Mr. Sunry approach the victim as she lay on the bed?"

"In the sense of touching her? No. He never went _anywhere_ near her."

"About the Sith - are you saying that they _manufactured_ the recording? That it may not even be genuine?" The holocams were flashing wildly now.

The Jedi smiled convivially. "I'm afraid I can't answer that question, ladies and gentlemen. However, the _Sith prosecutor_ may be able to assist with your queries..."

* * *

The little party returned to the _Ebon Hawk_ to find Mission running around the astrochart screaming, her hands in the air. "You **did** it! Oh, man, you guys - _you did it_! And the _press_! You were, like, _totally_ awesome!" She hugged Bastila, Jolee and the former Republic soldier in quick succession before resuming her riotous dance of joy.

"You kriffin' sent the Sith a karkin' pack o' kriffing _press hounds_," guffawed Canderous, clutching his sides. "You_ karked-up_ son of a kriffing_ bit_-"

"He means to say that that was a _spectacular_ gambit," said Carth quickly. "That kind of thing at their door? Hah! Not going to hush it up so easily..."

Juhani relieved Jolee of the box he was carrying and set it down on the floor. "It was... amazing. We had the_ HoloNews _on to learn what would happen. I am glad for how it turned out."

"Boy's a genius," Jolee remarked. "See - there's _no way_ the Sith can answer the press without exposing themselves. Also it's clear that their case was built on uncertainties to start with. People aren't always as stupid as they seem. Folk are gonna read the _Holonet_, or watch the _HoloNews_, and start thinkin' things. And the hotel owner - ha! - he's sure to make a public statement about how surprised he is that there're secret cameras pointin' at **beds**, of all things, in his hotel. Mmm-mmm."

Bastila loosened her braids, running her fingers through her hair. "Well, we've all certainly learnt _two_ things today," she observed. "First, lawyering is not fun, at all."

"_Sure as hell_ you can say that again..." the Jedi replied.

"Second: you, Sir Cabbage, are a **Class-A** shit-stirrer. No offence."

Smiling, Bastila winked at the Jedi and headed for the pantry. 


	12. Chapter 12

Midnight found the Jedi at the _Ebon Hawk_'s workbench, bent over one of his lightsabers. Holding the hilt up to the light, he peered into the polished cylinder and made a minute adjustment to its contents with a pair of tweezers. Then he adjusted the angle of the workbench lamp, peered into the hilt again and inserted a bit of twisted wire into a crevice.

Just a tiny, _tiny_ bit to the left... careful now... The Jedi held his breath and rested his wrists on the workbench to steady his hands. Very gently - a tiny tap should align the new crystal perfectly... Carefully, the Jedi manipulated the wire so that the makeshift tool was angled perfectly to nudge the pontite into position. A tiny amount of pressure - _just so_! - and the crystal shifted into place. Well done! The Jedi drew out the wire slowly, taking pains to ensure that he did not disturb any of the lightsaber's delicate components. Then he replaced the pommel guard, satisfied himself that it was securely fastened and stepped away from the workbench, activating the weapon. A blade of violet light sprang out from the emitter with a characteristic rasp.

Time to put this baby through some moves, the Jedi told himself as he summoned a second hilt from the workbench.

Bastila watched silently as the Jedi executed a flawless kata, his twin blades moving in a dizzying display of skill. She moved deeper into the blind spot by the astromech lift, where she could continue watching unobserved. Part of her was filled with gladness that for all the Council's meddling, Revan had lost none of his affinity with the Force. Difficult, dark and troubling times were ahead. She could sense it. For the first time in her life, it was with an unshakeable sense of foreboding that Bastila contemplated the near future.

Once they had located the Star Map that was to be found on Manaan, there would remain only one more Map to find - on Korriban. And then, they would go to the Star Forge - to **Malak**. Bastila whispered the name of the Sith Lord to herself and shuddered involuntarily. Korriban. _The Star Forge_. Revan would face many things from his past life there. The Sith Masters, for one. Fallen Jedi, every one of them. Then there would be the many Adepts that Revan and Malak had found on their crusade against the Mandalorians. These would have been assimilated into the Revanchists, of course. And when Revan fell, taking his best friend with him... Who knew what dormant memories those places might awaken?

The Jedi continued his elegant and deadly dance across the workshop floor. The kata he was now executing caught Bastila's attention. _Juyo_? But we did not teach him that!

"Who taught you that?"

The Jedi stopped mid-stride and stared in the direction of Bastila's voice. "..._Princess_? What are you **doing**? It's late!"

"Woke up to use the 'fresher and heard someone in the workshop. Thought I'd investigate," replied Bastila as she moved away from the astromech lift. "Where'd you learn that?"

"You mean what I was doing? I... don't know. Just popped into my head while I was going through the moves that you and Master Dorak taught me. Must have made it up." He smiled lopsidedly, deactivated both sabers and clipped them to his belt.

Bastila shook her head and frowned. "People don't just 'make up' new katas on the spot. It takes Jedi Battlemasters years to create new Forms, and even _longer_ to polish them to perfection."

The Jedi shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. "What can I say? I'm a talented guy..."

"Talent has little to do with it," retorted Bastila. "That was _Juyo_ you were practising there. _Very_ advanced form. Not many Jedi know it, because Juyo is deemed too... aggressive."

"And that's a bad thing?" queried the Jedi. "Why?"

Bastila stared at the Jedi in disbelief. _Why_? Wasn't the answer plain as day? "Because of aggression! Juyo is a _powerful_ Form, more offensive than defensive - it... it conflicts with what the Jedi stand for! We're _protectors_ - not aggressors! We're not meant to - to go on the offensive, _that'_s the reason the Council forbade Jedi to lead the offensive against the Mandalorians in the last war!"

Cocking his head to the side, the Jedi peered at Bastila as he tried to make sense of what she had just said. "...because Juyo is more offensive than defensive, it conflicts with the Code and therefore_ shouldn't_ be practised. And the Council saw the - what was it you called them, again? The 'Revanchists'? - the actions of the Revanchists as 'offensive' and... inappropriate. Is that what you mean?"

"_Precisely_! Revan's fall was precipitated by... by his involvement in the war against the wisdom of the Council! And some say - well, it's believed, at any rate - that Revan was... predisposed to fall because he - "

" - because he was a practitioner of Juyo? Good _heavens_, Princess - you don't actually _believe_ that, do you?" The Jedi stared incredulously at Bastila, who looked away. "Oh, I'll be...! You **do** believe that...!"

"Well, it's _proven_!" Bastila shot back testily. "Juyo is aggression. Aggression is a _passion_. Passion is a path to the Dark Side! _Nobody_ can practice Juyo without exposing themselves to the taint of the Dark Side!"

Sheesh! thought the Jedi to himself wearily. Not _another_ 'Dark Side' argument...! The way Bastila keeps going on about Dark Side this and Dark Side that - she's clearly afraid of the Dark Side... well, who wouldn't be! But her caution is starting to turn into an obsession... not healthy. He ran a hand through his hair as he sought the best way to approach the subject.

"I... would not go so far as to say that the practice of Juyo has been _empirically proven_ to cause Jedi to go all 'Darthy'," he began. "As in - there have got to be Jedi - good, upstanding Masters, right? - who _do_ know the Form... otherwise - well, from what you're saying, Juyo is a recognised Form and Revan learnt it before he... went over, so to speak. That means there are Jedi out there who have expertise in the Form, and _haven't_ fallen, right?"

"...yes, but that doesn't mean -"

"So you _can't_ say it's 'proven' that Juyo _causes_ 'Darthiness', Princess! I'll bet that _loads_ of the Jedi who fell with Revan knew nuts about Juyo."

"Well, all right - so maybe I exaggerated a little, but _the point is_ that Juyo treads far too close to the edge to be safely practised by _anyone_!" Especially by _you_ of all people, thought Bastila to herself.

Ignoring her outburst, the Jedi continued. "What you were saying about Revan - quite frankly, I don't think his joining the war was motivated by a desire for aggression so much as his perception of a grave need to **defend** worlds that were being ravaged. To halt the inexorable Mandalorian advance. Look what they did to the Cathar!"

"Vengeance is _not_ a Jedi ideal!" snapped Bastila.

The Jedi resisted the urge to smack his forehead. Bastila could be so _frustratingly_ obstinate! "Princess... just consider another point of view for now, all right? _You don't have to accept it if you don't want to_ - but just consider it all the same. A thirst for revenge likely had _little_ to do with Revan's decision to join the war. You know the history! Think about Revan's actions when he stepped into the fray. He focused on **liberating** worlds that had been conquered by the Mandalorians! This while drawing the Mandalorians' attention away from target worlds by means of harassment. Sabotaging key facilities - factories, shipyards, munition depots... Revan's earliest tactics were clearly aimed at _inconveniencing_ the Mandalorians at every turn and making any further conquests on their part utterly counterproductive."

"He still fell in the end. I do not see your point," said Bastila stubbornly, but without much conviction. She was confused. On the one hand, it was probably good for Revan to evaluate and critique his past actions - even if he didn't know they were his. On the other hand, what if doing so had the effect of throwing open the floodgates? Bastila chewed on her lip as she considered this.

"The point is, _if_ it was revenge Revan wanted, there were certainly_ much_ better ways - more _effective_ methods - of going about it. From all I've read of him, this Revan was a clever fellow. Very strategic. Knew _exactly_ what he was after and how to get it. I've often asked myself - not that I think I'm half as bright as he was - _what if I were him_? What** reason** would there be for me to make the decisions he did? And the more I thought about it, the less I'm convinced that the Masters... with all due respect, were right in concluding that it was bloodlust, or a thirst for revenge, or... anything 'Dark', really , that made Revan go to war. Or do the things he did - up to a point."

This conversation is getting increasingly surreal, Bastila told herself. Revan is actually talking to me about himself _in the third person_. I... suppose that as long as he talks about himself as if he _weren't_ himself, it will be all right... "Up to a point?"

The Jedi nodded. "Yeah. From a purely academic point of view, Revan was _completely_ sound in terms of military thinking and battlefield strategy. Even... towards the end of the Mandalorian wars, and after. By which time he had changed, obviously. But as I was saying - if one reads between the lines - goes behind the actions , so to speak... there's no denying that somewhere nearing the three-quarter mark of the war, something _definitely_ changed inside the man's head. Thinking about it, I kind of got the feeling that that was probably when he started going Dark..."

Curiosity got the better of Bastila again. "What makes you say that?"

The Jedi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "...hard to put it into words, Princess. It's... I don't know. Like I said, I imagined myself as... as Revan. It's surprisingly _easy_ to do... I was trying to understand why he did what he did... how a once-great Jedi such as he could have fallen, you see."

He paused, wrinkling his brow. "They say actions speak louder than words, and it's true. Revan's actions to start with were what one would expect from a general seeking desperately to reverse an onslaught against _terrible_ odds. He enjoyed successes - slowly at first, and then increasingly, as his methods of harassment proved effective. Then he started pushing the Mandalorians back altogether, and even then he was still sound - from a Jedi perspective. But then his methods started to change: he'd empty worlds of their defenders - _entirely_! - sacrificing cities wholesale, so that other worlds would be too fortified to strike. Militarily, that is acceptable practice and easily one of the most effective tactics - but he could equally have chosen other less... _high-handed_ methods. Which wouldn't have worked as fast as the methods he actually did use, but which would have been equally effective, given time."

"He started to make sacrifices, you mean?"

"Yes and no. Sacrifices, yes - but **always** of others... worlds which in his grand scheme of things, simply weren't significant enough to save and were therefore _disposable_. _That's_ when I got uncomfortable with his philosophy. When you start viewing others as pawns, simply factors to be played and sacrificed at your will, as if the galaxy were one huge dejarik board..." the Jedi shook his head sadly. "And that was, as they say,_ the beginning of the end_. For Revan. I think... he was uncomfortable with what he was doing - at first - but then the phenomenal successes those methods permitted him to enjoy on the battlefield probably led him to think that the long-term interests of the galaxy would more than account for the sacrifice of millions of lives. And once he started on that path - which is what I suspect happened - it was a slippery slope, culminating in the atrocity of Malachor V. Compromising your sense of right for the first time is difficult and painful... but when you start to justify your actions by papering them over so as to assuage your conscience... Force knows where that'll take you. Or what path your feet will find themselves on."

Bastila's voice had gone so soft the Jedi barely heard her speak. "...he drifted into darkness."

"Perhaps."

A heavy silence followed as Bastila and the Jedi each followed their own thoughts: he mulling over whether Revan had realised he was 'drifting', and if he had ever thought to turn back; Bastila alternately rejoicing that Revan seemed indeed to have changed, and fearing the worst should the change prove to be only a temporary respite.

"You know, Princess... I'm not convinced that Revan's fall was _purely_ the result of a 'drift' - though it probably did start out that way."

"Hmm?"

"He can't have been **ignorant** of it. One doesn't make... decisions - the sort of decisions _he_ did - without great deliberation. And I for one find it difficult to believe that someone of Revan's intellect and... presence of mind would have remained _entirely_ unaware of the ground that he was treading."

"That's true," conceded Bastila. "I suppose that in the end, Revan's fall was... an active choice."

"But _isn't it always_?"

_Was it_? wondered Bastila. She had never given the subject of falling much thought, preferring instead to focus her thoughts on being a good Jedi, on where the lines of demarcation between Darkness and Light fell precisely. It had always seemed so black and white - so _obvious_! - until recently. Now, realised Bastila, I'm learning that I don't even know _how_ Jedi fall - whether they jump, or are pushed. Or even if it's a combination of the two. It seems so _easy_ to stray... and if I don't know how Jedi go astray and fall, who is to say that I will even _recognise_ the symptoms in myself...?

Overcome with uncertainty, Bastila backed out of the workshop and fled to the comfort of her bunk, leaving the amnesiac Revan wondering what it was that he had said wrong _this_ time.

* * *

HK-47 clunked his way to the _Ebon Hawk_'s exit, where Bastila and the Jedi stood waiting.

"Thrilled response: Master! I am very glad that you have **finally** come to your senses and are taking me with you. I had begun to believe you intended for me to fall into a rusting obscurity, stashed away in the cargo hold, with only a pitiful collection of meatbags for company..." T3-M4 beeped shrilly in protest. "Observation: I say, Master...! The astromech is starting to develop a personality. Would you like me to wipe his core?"

"_No_, HK - T3's quite all right as he is... you remember what we discussed earlier?"

"Disappointment: Yes, Master. I am not to engage in pre-emptive strikes or apply lethal force unless so instructed. Oh, Master, you are so very, _very_ cruel." HK-47 proceeded to clunk his way down the ramp, cradling his blaster almost lovingly.

Bastila rolled her eyes and nudged the Jedi. "Are you sure you want to bring that homicidal _maniac_ along?" she whispered. "He's trigger-happy! Remember what happened the last time we fell to arms in the Sith embassy? Let's just take... Mission. Or Carth! Even _Canderous_ would be preferable to... to... that _psycho_ of a droid... 'protocol droid', my foot...!"

The Jedi rubbed his forehead in weary resignation. "Either I let HK come along with us now, and risk a little accident where we're going - or I leave him in the ship, and expose _everyone_ in Ahto City to the _very real risk_ of his behavioural inhibitors melting, or his servos corroding from protracted boredom..."

"When you put it that way..." Bastila knit her eyebrows together and shook her head. "At least we'll be on 'friendly' ground in the Republic embassy. I guess that significantly reduces the odds of HK having a meltdown or going rogue."

"Yep." The Jedi trotted down the ramp after HK-47. Bastila's worries are not unfounded, said a little voice in his head. HK has a tendency to apply a great deal of creative licence in interpreting whatever you say. Just think of his response to your explanation as to why he couldn't come along to the Sith embassy... Oh, shit.

"You're right, Princess."

"What?"

"About HK." The Jedi strolled towards HK-47 and motioned for the droid to listen. "How much pressure can your armoured casing support, HK?"

The droid's processor lights blinked. "Hesitant reply: A fair amount, I should think, Master. My latest upgrades will allow me to absorb extensive damage, if that is what you mean."

"That's good to know, HK. Actually I was wondering how you would do under, say... conditions of at least a hundred standard pounds per square unit?"

HK-47's processor core whirred as the droid computed the relevant factors. "Uncertain answer: I am not sure, Master. It would depend on the nature of the projectile and the dista-"

"Not projectiles, HK. I was thinking along the lines of _water_ pressure."

"Alarm: **Water**, Master!"

The Jedi nodded. "Yes - lots of it, as a matter of fact. We'll be travelling to the Hrakert Rift using one of the Embassy's submarines. There's a good chance one or _all_ of us will have to venture out onto the ocean floor while we're there."

"Appalled objection: _Ocean floor_? **Master**! That is _impossible_! Why, the salinity of the water would corrupt my wiring and disrupt... Firm refusal: Master, with all due respect, I _must_ refuse to accompany you on this mission, though it pains me to do so. Regretful observation: I am certain that you must be _very unwell_, Master. Otherwise you would not risk destroying such a _perfect_ specimen of engineering as myself by exposing me to water...!" HK-47 started moving back towards the _Ebon Hawk_, his lights blinking in consternation.

"You don't want to come along?" the Jedi asked.

"Negative, Master!"

"Hey...!" the Jedi called out to HK-47. "Tell Jolee to come with us!"

* * *

Jolee popped his head out of the submarine hatch, sniffed and grunted in disapproval. The enveloping darkness was broken only by the irregular flickering of a few overhead lights, underscoring the grimness that was Hrakert Rift Station.

"Stinks," the old Jedi complained as he climbed out. "Damnnit, son! I'm old, and I like my fresh air! This place ain't seen the stale end o'fresh for yonks...!" Jumping onto a small platform adjacent to the berth, Jolee held out a hand to assist Bastila, who emerged from the submarine with all the caution of a feline who found itself suddenly surrounded by puddles of water.

"I have a bad feeling about this place," she said as she took in their new surroundings. "...there is a darkness here. And... fear." Bastila moved away from the platform and crossed to the opposite side of the berth where a stack of crates lay piled haphazardly over an unidentifiable form, bent over and nudged it gently with her foot. "_By the Force_...! Jolee - there's a body here - "

" - there's one here too... _mostly_," said the Jedi. He was standing by the security door, a small halogen torch in his hand. It cast an eerie glow over the immediate area, illuminating the crudely partitioned torso of what had once been a Rodian mercenary. "Geography as well as history, by the looks of it." The Jedi gestured vaguely towards a severed arm which corresponded to the mutilated cadaver lying by the door.

Jolee knelt by the arm and examined it. "Bitten clean through." He unclipped his lightsaber and stood. "This place is bad, **bad** karma."

Scraping from behind the security door drew the trio's attention. Lightsaber at the ready, Bastila adopted a defensive stance while her companions pried the door open. A primal scream issued from the dark depths of the chamber behind the door: reflexively igniting their weapons, the party advanced cautiously. The cowering form of a Twi'lek mercenary materialised from the darkness as the trio approached. He was squatting with his back half towards the wall, spent ammunition clips at his feet, armed only with a small vibroblade. Poor man, thought Bastila. I can literally hear his teeth chattering in his head - _whatever happened here?_

Jolee spoke in a calm, low tone, trying to reassure the affrighted man that no harm was meant. But the horrors of whatever the Twi'lek had witnessed - and barely escaped - had done their baleful work: he gibbered and laughed his way through a speech as incoherent as it was irrelevant. The old Jedi shook his head sadly and turned to Bastila, tapping the side of his head with a finger.

It took Jolee a while to piece together the terrible fate that had befallen the inhabitants of Hrakert Rift Station. When he was offered a lift back to the surface, a strange mania gripped the mercenary. Howling like a banshee, he rushed though the door behind the trio. "No...!" cried the Jedi, as a spash echoed from the berths, leaving none in doubt as to the Twi'lek's end.

Jolee stroked his beard grimly and gazed into the murky dimness of the main corridor which led towards the control center of the station. "Too late...! Come - perhaps we will be in time to save others." Striding purposefully ahead, the old Jedi lit the way for his comrades, his lightsaber imparting an unearthly green glow to the surroundings.

They continued deeper into the Station.

* * *

Navigating Hrakert Rift Station proved to be easier said than done. Its labyrinthine corridors branched off into warren-like clusters of lab stations, control centres and storage facilities. Access to each new complex was hampered by the sheer number of frag and other mines in place. The doors had been heavily scored by blaster fire and stuck easily, so that Jolee often found himself having to cut a way through them with his lightsaber. Marauding knots of insane Selkath occasionally crossed the trio's path or sprang out at them from behind lockers, benches and the like, slathering and grasping wildly at clothing, hair, belt-pouches - _anything_! - in what could only be described as a feeding frenzy.

Thus it was with an acute sense of relief that the three Jedi found themselves standing before an airlock, the worst of Hrakert Rift Station behind them.

"Star Map's out there. Only one suit." Jolee rubbed his nose and looked at the younger Jedi inquisitively. "I'm old, and my bones don't like damp," he continued. "Who's it gonna be, hmm?"

The Jedi stepped forward. "I'll go," he said. "...I have a feeling I know where the Map is. That'd be the Force, wouldn't it?" With Jolee's assistance, he stepped into the heavy pressure suit and commenced suiting up. In the meanwhile, Bastila had secured the suiting chamber door against entrance by any remaining Selkath. She now settled into a kneeling position on the floor, her feet tucked neatly under her.

"I don't know what it will be like out there - but beware the firaxa. They're not friendly. Take the sonic device. I will stay and assist you with my Battle Meditation. Jolee will guard me. _May the Force be with you_." Closing her eyes, Bastila composed herself, reached into the Force and slipped with practised ease into her meditation routine. Having ensured that all the seals on the pressure suit had been properly secured, Jolee squeezed the Jedi's shoulder with avuncular familiarity and nodded at the pressure door.

Clumsily shuffling towards the pressure lock, the Jedi ventured a last glance back at Bastila before the thick door thudded shut behind him. A muffled click told him that Jolee had released the chamber lock. The room rapidly filled with water, and in a matter of minutes, the Jedi found himself trotting upon the vast seabed of Manaan, his heartbeat resounding in his ears.

* * *

Jolee stood facing the security door, lightsaber in his hand, his face a mask of steady concentration. Behind him, Bastila continued with her Battle Meditation in perfect silence. Only the faint, shimmering glow shrouding her person gave any hint that she was presently engaged in anything more complex than a deep breathing exercise.

The boy's been gone a while now, thought Jolee. _Hmpf_! Better not have turned into fish-food... nah. Not fish-food. Or else the Force would have told him. He was a _Consular_ - had been trained as one, at any rate - and if there was one thing Consulars were good at, it was paying attention to the Force. And Jolee had been paying attention for a good long while, yes he had. That was how he'd known, see? That the young man wasn't who he thought he was. Nuh-uh. No, sir - he was Someone Else altogether, and didn't old Jolee Bindo know it!

"Swirling Force," he had told the boy only last week, when pressed as to why he'd decided to uproot himself from Kashyyyk, where he had spent the last two decades of his life. "You have a destiny ahead of you. How'd I know? _Hmpf_! Swirling Force, young man - you'll find out when you grow up!" And then he had rambled on about some chap who fell into a nuclear reactor, following up that particular recollection with a moralistic fable involving a village, a man and a snake. Would the boy become the snake? Jolee wondered. He didn't think so - or, more precisely, he didn't _feel_ so.

A dull rumble sounded from outside. The lights went out entirely, flickering weakly back to life a few seconds later. Jolee craned his neck and looked up. The exposed wiring in the ceiling was shaking, as if buffeted by an unseen energy. The aged Consular increased his Force focus... nothing. Probably an undersea earthquake somewhere. He relaxed slightly. These things _did _happen, after all.

Resuming his ruminations, Jolee pondered the strange road that Revan's life had taken. The girl knew who he was, obviously. And she wasn't telling. Council orders - must be. It was eating her up inside, though. Because she **cares** for the boy, and when you start caring for someone the first thing you want to do is lay _all your cards_ out flat, share _all you have_ with them. That was the way it had been for him, and Jolee didn't think that the human psyche had changed all that much since he'd been a young man and in love. _Nayama_... Jolee shook his head and buried the stab of regret, willing himself to sharpen his Force focus. Nobody's getting past this old man without a fight, he told himself.

The minutes continued to tick slowly by. Jolee let the Force guide his consciousness. He could sense the thoughts of the firaxa outside: ravenously hungry and tetchy - but there was something different now, something... calmer. As if they were no longer interested in picking fights, purely for the sake of it. He followed the current of the Force, letting it lead his consciousness through the dingy corridors of the Station, past the broken battle droids, the deactivated mine fields... _wait_. Something had followed them into the Station. Something... dark. _Very_ dark.

Jedi. _Dark Jedi_.

Bastila gasped sharply as her Battle Meditation ended. "He's back!" She jumped up and ran towards the pressure door, checking and re-checking the meter as it registered the steady outflow of water from the pressure chamber, literally punching the switch for the pressure door as soon as the safe zone was indicated. The Jedi clomped clumsily into the suiting chamber, his pressure suit dripping wet. Bastila hastened to release him from the heavy gear, relief showing in her eyes.

Jolee growled. "We have company, boy."

The Jedi nodded. "I thought so too. They've been here a while, I think. Felt something was 'off' shortly after the fuel tanks blew. Rushed back as fast as my legs would take me. Didn't want you facing them alone." He pressed a switch, and the security door slid open.

"How many?" asked Bastila. "Battle Meditation does not allow me to focus on much else when I am using it."

"Three. But we will face them as one." Unclipping both lightsabers from his belt, the Jedi stepped back into the eerie half-light of the Station.

* * *

Their encounter with the Dark Jedi was as brief as it was unpleasant. Flushed with pride at what he perceived to be the high honour of facing his Master's erstwhile friend and former Lord, Darth Bandon exulted over his status as the new Dark Lord's apprentice and taunted the amnesiac Revan mercilessly.

Verbal barbs having failed to elicit the desired response, Darth Bandon grew angry and launched a wave of Force lightning at the former Sith Lord, who effortlessly caught and absorbed the same with the blade of one of his weapons. The two Dark Jedi accompanying Darth Bandon launched a ferocious attack at Bastila and Jolee, acting under Darth Bandon's instructions to leave the former Sith Lord to him.

Darth Bandon was impressively skilled, but he lacked the trademark cunning of a seasoned swordsman - and the amnesiac Revan was no amateur. The Masters had succeeded in suppressing his conscious memory, yes - but even they, with all their skill, could not hope to alter or suppress the memories locked in muscle, written in flesh, and sealed in bone. With a speed that bespoke years of experience, the Jedi parried Darth Bandon's flurries and strikes with a flawless grace. Impatient and thoroughly infuriated, the Sith apprentice unwisely threw caution to the wind and charged towards his foe, launching himself in an arc overhead to strike the amnesiac down. A grave error. Parrying Darth Bandon's powerful attack with both his weapons, the Jedi vaulted up and backwards, pressing Darth Bandon's blade down with one weapon whilst bringing the other blade across in a sweeping violet arc, neatly bisecting the Sith apprentice.

The two Dark Jedi soon followed their Lord to Chaos.

Later, while readying the submarine to dive in preparation for their trip back to the surface, the three Jedi agreed amongst themselves that _this time_, at least, there would be no more trips to the Ahto City courthouse. After all, they'd been on Official Republic Business, and Roland Wynn had assured them that Hrakert Rift Station was a Republic base - and _Roland Wynn ought to know._

Right?

**Wrong**.


	13. Chapter 13

It was a worn-out, tired, hungry and irritated trio that returned to the _Ebon Hawk_ a day later. Carth peppered the party with questions as soon as he heard them coming up the ramp.

"What the _hell_ took you people so long _this_ time? Do you know how _worried_ we've been? Have you _any_ idea how many times Mission and Canderous tried to contact you? Don't you even _answer_ your comsets?"

Jolee treated the Republic officer to the sort of look all persons of mature years reserve only for the foolishness of youth, ignored his questions and sat down to unlace his boots. Carth ranted on.

"_Oi_...! Talking to you, buddy! So what happened? _Man_! I was ready to send Juhani out after you lot! Where've you **been**!"

Seeing that no response was forthcoming from his former colleague, Carth turned his attention to Bastila and repeated all his earlier queries. The weary girl abandoned her attempt to coax out the knots in her hair, threw her hands up in a gesture of exasperation, stuck her fingers in her ears and ran for the pantry.

_What the hell_? thought the Jedi, as he pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep what promised to be an epic headache at bay. You stay out half a day longer than anticipated, and Carth goes into Daddy Mode. He felt a sudden surge of sympathy for the late Dustil. Cracking open an eye, the Jedi noticed the Republic officer still hovering nearby, and considered it in the best interest of his sanity to just get the interview over and done with.

"We ran into some Dark Jedi," he replied casually. "And Malak's Apprentice. _Ex_-apprentice, now."

"_Dark Jedi_! **Apprentice**! I_ knew_ it! I _knew_ something had happened to you people...!" exclaimed Carth triumphantly. Jolee rolled his eyes and started massaging his feet.

"And we're still alive, thanks for asking," said the Jedi ascerbically.

Carth's retort was the classic parental response to excuses for curfew-busting galaxy-wide. "Yeah - but you lot could at least have _called back_ to say you'd be delayed or something! And saved **me** the worry! What do you people carry comsets for? We're talking about _basic responsibility_ here...!"

The Jedi could not believe his ears. _Responsibility_! He snapped at Carth. "Well, considering the authorities here _don't_ allow arrestees access to their comsets, pardon me if I failed to update you!"

"_Arrested_? Not _again_!" Carth brought his free hand up to his forehead and rubbed avidly. "What did you break _this_ time? Don't tell me - you had _another_ Court appearance... but you got out of it okay, right?"

Jolee stood and abruptly smacked the back of Carth's head with a very dirty rag that might have been a polishing cloth at some point in its development. "Get smarter _every_ year, these young'uns. **Real** genius. '_Course _we did. Hmpf!" He stalked off in the direction of the 'fresher, undoing his tunic as he went. Carth kicked the filthy rag aside and nodded at his former subordinate.

"_So_?"

The Jedi suddenly found himself very appreciative of his difficulties in recalling the details of his family life. If his parents had been _anything_ like Carth, his teen years would probably hurt too much to think about. "Fuel tanks. Hrakert Rift Station. Very deep underwater. Found Star Map. Fought Dark Jedi. Went to Court, got out. That's all. I_ don't _want to talk about it right now." He backed away from Carth and scurried to the comparative silence of the men's cabin.

* * *

Leaving Manaan proved to be as troublesome as entering it. Faithful to their reputation for an obsession with red tape, the starport authorities insisted on performing a full inspection of the _Ebon Hawk_'s cargo hold, _more_ form-filling, as well as extracting statutory declarations from each sentient on board the ship as to their non-involvement in kolto smuggling. This pleased nobody, least of all Juhani, who had been looking forward to finally getting off the watery planet. Mission grumbled long and loud about having to "do more homework", which did not assist in lifting the general mood.

Loud whoops of joy filled the _Ebon Hawk_ when the authorities announced that the ship had been cleared for departure. Nobody seemed to care, or mind, that there was an inordinately long queue of craft in the jump line to hyperspace - the point was that they were _getting out of Manaan_!

"Where to next?" queried Carth. "Back to Dantooine? Or straight on to Korriban?"

"Korriban. If Malak is worried enough to send his apprentice after us, we must be doing something right. Which means we're getting _too_ close for comfort - and that means _we don't have much time_." Bastila made a small 'hmm' of assent, which the Jedi interpreted as disappointment. Taking her hand, he apologised.

"I'm sorry, Princess. Dantooine would have been a welcome break - but now we've got Malak's full attention, and Force knows what he'll try next. Promise I'll make it up to you when all this is over."

Bastila nodded dumbly, Revan's words barely registering in her mind. She could sense nothing but a great darkness ahead, and she did not know what it concealed. Truly, the Dark Side had beclouded everything. How she ached to lay the truth bare to Revan! How she longed to give him fair warning, to prepare him for the things he must encounter from his previous life! But she could not. She had given an oath to the Masters not to betray their secret - a vow she bitterly regretted. "Truth will out," her Master had told her once before, when she was very young. One day, perhaps very soon, Revan would learn his true identity, how it had been stripped from him, and how she had been complicit in this. He would have _every_ right to be furious, to turn on her, to abandon the mission, to harbour resentment against the Masters. Would that resentment expand to include the Order, and every member thereof?

The thought sent shivers down Bastila's spine. She had gazed upon the prostrate form of Darth Revan as he hovered betwixt life and death, and when she preserved his life, she had seen him through the Force for one fleeting moment. It had astounded her, even then. The man was... _power_. Looking at him was akin to looking into the _heart_ of the Force. He had brought the galaxy, and the Order, to its knees once before.

He could do it _again_ - and _this_ time, he would make **no** mistake. And **she** would be responsible.

The possibility was too terrible to contemplate.

* * *

Admiral Saul Karath knelt before the red-cloaked figure. "My Lord?"

Darth Malak said nothing. The Admiral twitched nervously and continued.

"My Lord, our spies on Manaan inform me that the _Ebon Hawk_ has departed the system."

Still no response from the figure that towered above him. Admiral Karath began to sweat profusely.

"Dantooine has been destroyed, my Lord. They have no safe harbour now. I... I shall dispatch troops, Dark Jedi - _right away_! - and hunt them down. I will **not** fail you, my Lord!"

Darth Malak laughed, his voice an unnaturally deep and guttural timbre. It was not a nice laugh.

"And _where_ do you propose to start hunting, Admiral?" The Dark Lord of the Sith swept an arm expansively across the bridge viewport, indicating the infinite array of stars scattered across the galaxy.

Unconsciously fingering the collar of his jacket, which suddenly felt very hot and tight, the Admiral equivocated as he tried desperately to think of an intelligent answer.

"Lehon, my Lord...?"

"**Idiot**. Go back to the _Leviathan_, and plot an intercept course for Korriban."

Admiral Karath started. "K-Korriban, my Lord?"

The Sith Lord turned and pointed a hand at the man kneeling before him. Admiral Karath felt himself in the grip of an unseen power, rising slowly off the ground. He panicked and struggled to break free, to no avail.

"Your predecessor once made the mistake of questioning _me_, Admiral. Surely _you_ are not so foolish?"

"N-no, m-my Lord...!" choked Admiral Karath. Darth Malak dropped his hand carelessly, and resumed staring out of the bridge viewport. Behind him, the struggling Sith officer fell to the ground in an undignified heap.

Crawling to his feet, Admiral Karath backed obediently out of his Lord's audience, noting the identification numbers of the Sith troopers present. These men had witnessed his disgrace, and were therefore unfit to live.

He would execute them later.

* * *

"_Boy_! Why have we come out of hyperspace?" asked Jolee, staring out of the viewport as the last of the white lines disappeared from view.

Carth busied himself with checking the navicomp feed as he answered. "Because Korriban is not a tourist hotspot."

"So?"

"So there aren't any _direct_ hyperspace lanes to it, and the only way to get there is to make several jumps. Now, if I can just find..." the Republic officer started talking to himself as he cross-referenced a list of figures. Jolee plucked at his beard.

"Get the droid to do it, boy!"

"Can't. Already tried. Droid doesn't know where Korriban is. Gotta do it by hand -" A sudden, urgent beeping from the security console accompanied by flashing orange lights overhead put an end to the conversation. Abandoning the navicomp feed and his list of figures, Carth bolted to the security console. Bastila, Juhani, Zaalbar and Canderous were already there, staring at the console screen.

"Incoming!" shouted Canderous as Carth entered the room. "Kriffin' _huge_ incoming, at that. Gonna be a **big** fight."

"What is it?" called the Jedi, as he tried to edge past Zaalbar's hulking form into the console room. "Sorry, Zaalbar. Watch your toes..."

"It's a Sith Destroyer." Bastila's polished voice had gone unusually quiet. She turned away from the console and looked the Jedi in the eye. "They've come for you - I mean, us."

"So what do we do?" The _Ebon Hawk_ shuddered, and the urgent beeping moved up a notch. "Kark - a _tractor beam_!" Carth elbowed his way out of the room and ran back to the cockpit. "People, better make it quick - ten minutes is my best estimate..."

"I say we stand and fight! _For Mandalore_!" shouted Canderous.

"Who died and made _you_ leader?" snapped Juhani, glaring poisonously at the Mandalorian. "I will hear what plan our **leader** has." She looked significantly at the former Republic soldier.

The Jedi's mind raced. Ten minutes wasn't a lot of time. Likelier than not the Sith would be interested in Bastila more than anyone else on board. And if they were interested in Bastila, it stood to reason that they knew who had assisted in her escape from Taris. That meant they would _also_ be interested in the surviving crew of the _Endar Spire_. Which put Carth and himself there on the list with Bastila - and the Sith would tear the _Ebon Hawk_ apart to find the three of them.

Any attempt to conceal themselves on the _Ebon Hawk_ would therefore be counterproductive.

And then there were Canderous, Juhani, Zaalbar, Mission and Jolee. The Jedi wasn't worried about the droids, whom he had adjudged to have sufficient tricks in their programming to look after themselves.

Canderous would be viewed as merely another mercenary for hire: he would not be mistreated. Mission - a _rutian Twi'lek girl_... valuable on the slave market - Zaalbar... Czerka had been kicked out of Kashyyyk... _supply and demand for Wookiee slaves_... Slaves would not sell for much if they were obviously unwell or 'spoiled goods'. Yes, Mission and Zaalbar would be well-treated by the Sith. Compared to _whatever_ the Sith had in mind for Bastila, Carth and himself, that is. As Jedi, Juhani and Jolee would interest the Sith as _potential_ Dark Jedi candidates...

...but_ would they even know about Jolee_ at all? The man had gone to ground for over twenty years. It was very likely that the Sith had forgotten his existence.

Mission pushed her way into the console room and stood before the Jedi. "I found a hidey-hole on the ship. But it can only take one person," she blurted. The Jedi nodded and made a quick decision.

"That's excellent. Jolee, you go into hiding. They'll certainly find you, but I'm sure you can convince them you're not worth killing. Mission, I want you to take Jolee to the hiding place, and show him how it works. Then come back here. All right?"

The Twi'lek girl nodded and scurried off, the old Jedi following briskly. Upon her return, the Jedi gave instructions to the remainder of the crew.

"Everyone listen up. Bastila, Carth and myself are the real targets here. I've decided that it is in the best interest of all of you - please, Juhani, let me finish - that we surrender. That way, they're less likely to tear up the _Ebon Hawk_, which means we still have a decent chance to escape. Jolee is hiding. He will think of a way to free Carth, Bastila and myself. Canderous - I'm putting you in charge of freeing the others. Just... be discreet. This is _neither the time nor the place_ for a pitched battle. Got that?"

Canderous nodded. The boy was showing leadership, **real** leadership - and being _decisive_. He rather liked that. "Roger that, sir!"

HK-47 buzzed and called out. "Query: Master, what about the astromech unit and I?"

"HK, you're a very intelligent droid. Your job is to keep the Sith from taking this ship apart, and to assist Canderous and the others once they're within range of the _Ebon Hawk_."

"Yes, Master. I shall mine th-"

"_No disintegrations_, HK!"

Carth shouted again from the cockpit. "Four minutes!"

"Zaalbar, Mission, Juhani, Canderous - you will have to co-operate with each other. Forget all your squabbles. The **only** way Bastila, Carth, Jolee and I are going to have any chance at getting off that destroyer is if you can pull through for us. We're very much in your hands. _May the Force be with you_."

In response, Zaalbar reaffirmed his life-debt. With a struggle, Juhani swallowed her pride and held out a clawed hand to Canderous. "For our leader," she told him. Canderous raised an eyebrow in surprise but shook hands with her anyway. "For... our leader," he repeated. Mission tried to look brave.

Carth shouted again. "Wrap it up, guys - two minutes left...!"

As the others filed out of the console room, the Jedi went to sit beside Bastila. Her face was pale and her brows creased, her lips moving as she repeated the words of the Code in an effort to steel herself for the coming crisis. Affectionately taking her hands in his, the Jedi realised that Bastila - _dear_, dependable, stoic Bastila! - was afraid, and _deeply_ so.

"_Sixty seconds_!"

There was no more time for words. As the tractor beam drew the Ebon Hawk closer, closer, closer into the maw of the Leviathan, the former Dark Lord of the Sith took Bastila in his arms, rested her head on his shoulder and held her tightly, willing courage and hope into her heart even as he breathed deeply of her scent.

The Sith troopers who found Bastila and her Jedi companion later thought that they'd walked into a very clichéd holovid scene.


	14. Chapter 14

Saul Karath smirked at his captives as he paced before the force cages holding them. Bastila Shan, the redoubtable Revan himself, and that _upstart_ Carth Onasi! His chest swelled with self-satisfaction. Doubtless the Dark Lord would be _most_ satisfied. If he was very clever, he might even be able to get himself a promotion out of this - _Grand Admiral Saul Karath_...! The syllables rolled comfortably off his tongue as he spoke the coveted title to himself. **Grand Admiral** - now _that_ was something he could get used to. Wonder if it came with a raise?

Carth Onasi glared daggers at his former mentor. Puffed-up, despicable, _traitorous_ son of a kath hound...! His spleen found vent in a barrage of classic Telosian expletives, which he hurled at the Sith officer with an enthusiasm that surprised both his fellow captives. The Admiral stopped pacing and returned his former pupil's vitriol with a cold, calculating stare.

"Such _language_, Lieutenant! Hardly befitting the civilised."

"Then it should suit **you** admirably!" snarled Carth.

The Sith officer made a show of casually examining his fingernails. "_Still _sore about Telos, Onasi? That was _ages_ ago."

Carth struggled to his feet with a roar of rage. "Telos was my _home_! And it is now the grave of my wife _and_ son - damn _karking_ right I'm sore!" The force field confining Carth buzzed menacingly as he came too close to touching it. Mindful once again of his circumstances, Carth stepped back from the wall of buzzing electricity and stood in the centre of the cage, his hands clenching and unclenching in agitation.

"Oh _dear_." Admiral Karath's tone was deceptively placid. "And so you wish you had died with them. Well, old friend. That can always be arranged."

"Why, you karked-up kr-"

Bastila interjected. "Calm yourself, Lieutenant. This man isn't worth your breath." She was sitting calmly in a force cage to the left of Carth's, and appeared to have been meditating.

Admiral Karath resumed his leisurely stroll around the force cages. "Bastila Shan. Child prodigy of the Jedi Order. I wonder - is it _only _your vaunted Battle Meditation that interests the Dark Lord?"

He stopped outside Bastila's cage and leered at the girl held captive inside it. She was clad only in her undergarments: the Sith customarily stripped their prisoners of most of their clothing, having learnt that humiliation and shame were powerful tools in breaking even the strongest will. Bastila averted her eyes, refusing to meet the Sith officer's gaze. Admiral Karath smirked and resumed pacing.

"Perhaps he intends for you to... _satisfy_ him in other ways as well." The Sith officer stopped again, this time outside the former Republic soldier's cage, his face wrinkling into a nasty smile. "Ah, the courting swain. There's no point denying it, you know. My troopers tell me _everything_ - whether they wish to, or not. I know what they saw when they found you. Tell me -" Stooping so that his face was level with the Jedi's, the Sith officer dropped his voice to a whisper. "- _how do you feel about sharing_?"

The Jedi could feel the muscles in his jaw tightening. Instinct urged him to let fly as Carth had done, something - _anything_! - that might insult, annoy or hurt, if that were possible, the grinning fiend in officer's clothes who now whispered the basest insinuations into his ear. Something else - his better sense - told him that giving vent to his frustration and anger was precisely the reaction Admiral Karath was looking for. He decided to deny the Sith officer this pleasure.

Angered at his failure to elicit a response from the Jedi, Admiral Karath tried a different tack. "Where is the Jedi Enclave?"

Three pairs of eyes stared in different directions. Nobody answered. The Sith officer reached for a lever and rested a thin, white hand on it. "Uncooperative. How _dreadful_." He depressed the lever. Thin bolts of electricity leapt inwards from the electrical barrier on each force cage, earthing themselves through their respective occupants. Carth gritted his teeth, refusing to acknowledge the pain. The two Jedi did likewise.

"Again. _Where_ is the Jedi Enclave?"

Bastila's voice was admirably devoid of sentiment. "You are wasting your time. We will not tell you."

Admiral Karath raised a bushy eyebrow. "Indeed, Miss Shan. You are right. I am going about my interrogation the wrong way." Stepping aside, the Admiral removed the security hatch on a console by the wall, flipped two switches on it and fiddled with a dial. Then he returned to the lever and splayed his spidery fingers over it.

"Again I ask: _Where is the Jedi Enclave_?"

Carth spat at his former mentor. His saliva hit the electrical barrier and caused it to spark menacingly. "Kark yourself, you bastard! Go on! Pull the lever! I'll die before I betray the Republic."

The Sith officer made a great show of rolling his eyes at this. "Oh, come now, Lieutenant. It isn't **you** I'm asking." He looked significantly at the former Republic soldier. "Where is the Jedi Enclave?"

The Jedi looked up. "Don't know."

"Wrong answer." Admiral Karath depressed the lever. Reflexively, Carth and the Jedi gritted their teeth, readying themselves for the agony of electrical torture - but it never came. Bastila, however, shrieked in agony from the thicker bolts of electricity that had jumped off the cage barrier onto her. The Jedi instantly comprehended the new method of interrogation that the Admiral's sick mind had devised. For every uncooperative answer, Bastila would be tortured. And he would be forced to watch, helpless to intervene. Alarmed and disgusted, the Jedi told the Sith officer exactly what he thought.

"You're one sick puppy, Saul!"

"_Indeed_? Who is sicker - the one who asks the questions, or the one who refuses to save?" Admiral Karath smiled lopsidedly, and depressed the lever once more: Bastila screamed even louder.

Her screams were painful enough on their own without the amplification of a sense of her terror being transmitted to him through their bond. A multitude of thoughts, urges, desires, temptations ran amok within the Jedi's mind as he struggled to maintain his composure. It would be so easy - _just one name, one planet_ - and he could save her, here and now. _But at what price_? The lives of many, for the life of one... even one as precious as Bastila - no, it was _impossible_ to justify. He thought he heard Carth shouting in the background of the clamouring thoughts. Alderaan?

"Shut up, Onasi! What do you know - Alderaan's not the place, though I'd have liked to have blown it up as well..." Admiral Karath hissed at his former pupil, and depressed the lever a third time. Bastila's screams degenerated into desperate howls.

"Tell - tell... him - the pain - I ..." she gasped.

"Princess, I'm sorry. I _don't_ want you to suffer - but this monster will destroy _everyone_, _everything_ we've loved or stood for, if we tell him." The Jedi shook his head sadly as Admiral Karath depressed the lever a fourth time.

Through Bastila's heartwrenching cries, an idea rose up in the deepest recesses of the Jedi's mind: Saul Karath knows where the Enclave is. And he's destroyed it already. Bastila's screams continued unabated, and it was with the greatest difficulty that the Jedi turned a deaf ear to them in order to concentrate more fully on what his mind was telling him. He tried to think. What did Saul just say? The Jedi shook his head, trying to focus...

It seemed like an eternity to Bastila before the electricity cut and the pain receded, though in reality it had been only a few seconds. Cruel and sadistic though he was, Admiral Karath was nonetheless beholden to, and too much in awe of, Darth Malak to 'tamper' with his Lord's precious acquisition in any way. He would have liked to have turned up the voltage by a few more notches, but doing so would scar the girl permanently - or worse, maim or kill her - and that he dared not do. But Revan? A different story. Admiral Karath reset the power switches and returned to his place by the lever.

"_Well_?" he demanded.

The Jedi looked up, triumph in his eyes. "It won't matter whether or not we tell you, Saul. You already know where the Enclave is, and you've laid it waste. I've heard your master was once a Jedi: if so, he would have known where the Enclave was. You lose, Admiral."

Foiled! A large vein started throbbing in Admiral Karath's temple. How **dare** this upstart laugh at him! Oh, but he would have his revenge. Snarling, the Sith officer depressed the lever once more. The Jedi yelped once, and collapsed to the floor of his cage, unconscious and twitching from the current that ran through his body.

* * *

"Is he all right? Can you see?"

"Uh...I think he - he's got some... a few... burns, Bastila... his arms."

"Can he hear us?"

The Jedi drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely registering that people seemed to be talking about and above him. He wasn't sure where he was. His arms felt as if parts of them had been seared with an iron: his legs didn't feel much better.

In his moments of unconsciousness he thought he dreamt things - really _odd_ things - a bald man dressed entirely in red with impressive cranial tattoos and a roguish smirk, the same man with a full head of hair, dead Cathar floating in the water, only they weren't _really_ there; the bald man again... the Enclave?... Masters... **lots** of Masters... or were they Jedi? Maybe just ordinary Jedi... following... _him_? And he was talking - only he didn't know what he was actually saying, only that he seemed to be a great speaker who enjoyed massive popularity - man, this was some _trippy_ dream...

Someone was calling his name. The Jedi stirred. Cold. Hard. Floor? He tried to sit up. Ouch! And... and... goodness, why was it so bright?

"Where - where..." His voice sounded weak and alien to him.

Soft, yet strong arms were about him now, helping him sit up slowly. Like a blind man, he clutched at the arms and felt his way up them - shoulders - neck, ears... hair... braids in hair -

"Princess...?" The arms about him tightened, and he could feel her nodding in response.

"Yes, _yes_ - it's me, Bastila -" Bastila found herself choking back tears. Revan was all right! Disoriented and injured, but otherwise all right. Thankfulness and relief welled up in her heart.

"'ere. Lemme have a look at 'im." The voice was low and gruff, but unmistakably gentle. Jolee. The Jedi grinned and turned his head to face the source of the voice.

"How you doin', old man?" croaked the Jedi weakly.

"_Holy Force_, son - what'd you make 'em **do** to you?" Another set of hands - rough, calloused ones this time - were touching his arms at intervals. The Jedi winced as Jolee ran his fingers over the electrical burns. Jolee muttered to himself, then shut his eyes and drew on the Force.

Dizzy and still unused to the light, the Jedi cocked his head this way and that, trying to focus on what he took to be the shape of the most important person in his vicinity - Bastila. "How come you look like Carth?"

'Bastila' loomed more sharply into focus. "Because I damn well _ain't_ the Princess, buddy. Glad to see you've still got your wits about you." Carth grinned amusedly as Bastila knelt beside their colleague, propping him up on her own body.

Woozily, the Jedi registered that the Princess - _this_ was _very definitely_ Bastila! - was so very soft and... cushiony. **Especially** the bits of her that his head was resting on - a fact which he promptly apprised Bastila of.

"Someone shut the kid up so I can heal him proper," groused Jolee.

Carth picked up a pitcher of liquid that had been left standing, sniffed its contents and emptied the lot over the Jedi's head. The shock of having ice-cold water poured over him cut through the foggy layers of confusion like a lightsaber through durasteel. The Jedi wiped his face on the back of a hand.

"Thanks, man." He looked about, and recent events recalled themselves to him. "By the Force - Jolee - _Dantooine_! The Sith have destroyed Dantooine...! And Darth Malak! He must be coming here. We don't have much time!"

The old Jedi finished healing the last of the burns, and stood. "Good thing you're an early riser, huh? Come on. We got work to do." Carth chucked some crumpled clothes at the Jedi. Jolee continued his narration as his patient dressed.

"Juhani and Canderous have managed to jailbreak themselves. They got Mission out, and Zaalbar too. Mission's done pretty damn good: she sliced the systems, set static images in all the cameras, and took those nasty war droids offline. Zaalbar smashed in a couple of skulls, not that anyone's counting... Canderous has rigged up a couple of mines by the main barracks area, so that should cover us some... and I done cleared us a path to the _Ebon Hawk_. All we need now is to get to the bridge, and unlock the bay doors. "

"Fantastic! We can take it from here," said Carth. "I've got a piece of my mind to give that assho - Admiral Karath." He stuffed a few more blaster clips into his ammo pouch.

Bastila paused at the entrance to the detention facility. "Are you - Jolee, do you think he's - "

Jolee nodded. "He'll be all right. Patched him up good, didn't I?" The old Jedi gave his friends the thumbs-up and disappeared round a corner.

* * *

"Admiral." Even as a holoprojection, Darth Malak still cut an imposing figure. Admiral Saul Karath shrank into himself almost reflexively as he bowed before the holograph of his master.

"It is done, my Lord. The young Jedi Bastila Shan has been captured, as you directed. Her companions have also been captured, along with their ship. I have interro-"

The Dark Lord cut Admiral Karath off angrily. "A waste of time, Admiral! You would have done well to have informed me of their capture _earlier_." The holograph flickered momentarily, as if mirroring the displeasure of Darth Malak, Dark Lord of the Sith. Admiral Karath berated himself for having taken such an amateurish approach to buttering up his master, and tried again.

"There is something you must know, my Lord," he began. "Your... former master. He - "

"What of him?" snarled Darth Malak.

"Why, my Lord - he - he is a _fool_...! He truly does not know who he is, and -"

"Revan was no fool, Admiral," warned Darth Malak. "You would do well not to underestimate him."

"My Lord, I assure you your time will not be wasted," pleaded the Sith officer. "He has... developed an... _affection_, I believe, for the young woman. It would appear she returns the sentiment."

One parsec away, Darth Malak's eyes widened in surprise. _Revan_? **Affection**? For a woman? How... very _curious_. For one brief moment, the memory of a face almost forgotten and from another life passed in remembrance before his eyes. Alek had cared for someone, too. Once. An Arkanian Offshoot. She had rejected him. Deep within the persona of Darth Malak, the Jedi - the man - once known as Alek Squinquargesimus sighed painfully at the recollection, and whispered a word of wistful longing. Darth Malak sneered - affection? Such _effete_ weakness! - and banished all thought of Alek. Arkanian Offshoots, and the past; willing ire, resentment and a suffocating hatred to take its place.

So Revan had found someone to love. And that someone had chosen to love Revan back. Alek had always watched as Revan did things he never could - n_ow Malak would even the score_. Revan thought he knew Bastila - but she had been instrumental in his renovation. _Malak would open his eyes_. Revan was content being who he now thought he was: _Malak would take that contentment away_. Revan had deprived Malak of his jaw - now _Malak would gouge out Revan's heart_.

The dark thoughts filled Darth Malak with an unholy glee. "Admiral."

"...my Lord?"

"I return." The holographic projection grew fuzzy and then cut completely.

As Admiral Karath stared at the blank holoprojector debating the outcome of this latest interview, the security doors to the bridge blew open with a mind-mumbing explosion. The Sith grenadier nearest him whipped around and started lobbing grenades indiscriminately, while the junior bridge commander sprinted to the internal communications console and yelled something unintelligible into the receiver. Smoke from exploding ordnance filled the bridge with an acrid vapour, which Admiral Karath instantly recognised as poison gas. Holding his breath, he strode quickly over to where the junior bridge commander was in the process of securing a gas mask over his face, assaulted the young man savagely and ripped the mask away from him.

Only the fittest deserve to live, Admiral Karath reminded himself as he donned the life-saving equipment. The junior officer clearly failed to make the grade. As the smoke dissipated, figures could be made out in the near distance, accompanied by shouts and the din of blaster fire. Admiral Karath gripped his ceremonial sword and narrowed his eyes.

A gas-masked figure strode confidently through the swirling gas, the very image of an avenging spirit.

"Saul Karath," spat the figure.

"Carth Onasi," acknowledged the Sith officer as he drew his sword. "Come for your revenge at last?"

"Revenge? Yes. And more! I want **justice**, Saul! Justice -" Carth advanced on his former mentor, blasters trained and at the ready. "I want you to suffer just as my wife suffered! I want you to die painfully, just as my poor boy died." Admiral Karath's free hand twitched towards his side - a movement Carth instantly recognised. He countered by shooting Saul Karath in the hand. The Sith officer hollered and lost his footing, dropping his sword as he cradled the bleeding stump.

Carth stopped advancing, and kicked his former mentor's sword back towards its owner. He roared at the downed man. "Pick up your sword, Saul!"

The Sith officer smirked. "How very... decent! _Won't_ kill an unarmed foe?" Admiral Karath's good hand strayed to the side of his belt, and unclipped a small disruptor pistol. Feigning agony, Admiral Karath keeled forwards and moaned, his voice drowning out the telltale click as he primed the weapon to discharge fully in a single shot. _Fool_...! He would not get a second chance. With the speed of a coiled viper, Admiral Karath drew the pistol and shot Carth Onasi in the heart... or would have, had the bright violet blade of the Jedi's lightsaber not appeared from nowhere, deflecting the shot...

Admiral Karath screamed as the deflected charge buried itself in his abdomen, disintegrating flesh and tissue, leaving a gaping wound in its wake. Blood began to pool around him. He knew his time was running out... but he would have the last laugh. Admiral Karath beckoned to his former pupil, his eyes fixed on the amnesiac Revan, who stared warily back.

"Carth... ha ha ha... Carth - there is something you must know..."

The Republic officer bent over his former mentor as the dying man whispered into his ear, before finally expiring with a last choked, malicious laugh.

"The bay doors are unsecured - _come_!" called Bastila to her companions. The Jedi deactivated his weapons and patted his former colleague amiably on the shoulder.

"_Don't. Touch. Me_!" snarled the Republic officer. He crossed the bridge floor swiftly and accosted Bastila, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her roughly aside.

"Is it true?" Carth demanded, his eyes wild.

True? What in the five hells was - Bastila's gaze flickered to the still body of Admiral Karath in its sorry pool of blood - Revan, staring confusedly at Carth - Carth, almost frothing at the mouth with anger - truth...? Oh, Force...! "Not _now_, Carth -" she stuttered frantically. "Not now!"

Carth ignored her protestations. "No! **Now**! Tell me now! _It's true, isn't it!_? You knew! All the time!" He shook Bastila roughly. Alarmed at his friend's strange behaviour, the Jedi moved to intervene but Bastila gestured at him to stop.

"I promise I will explain everything later," said Bastila hurriedly. "But now we _must get out_ of this place!"

Reason reasserted itself, and Carth acknowledged its demand with a growl. "Fine. We'll do this your way, _Jedi_. You **owe** me." He released Bastila and strode out the door, angrily kicking a Sith corpse in the groin as he went.

* * *

Darth Malak paced impatiently in the midst of the maze of rooms leading to the hangar where the _Ebon Hawk_ waited. He was in a fouler mood than usual: the _Leviathan_ was a complete shambles. The dead and dying or otherwise incapacitated littered its corridors. Obviously, the captives were on the loose. How that **fool** Karath had imagined that he would be able to hold four determined Jedi - Revan amongst them! - against their volition quite escaped him.

They would come this way, Darth Malak told himself. He had been clever - he had locked doors strategically so that the escapees would have no alternative but to funnel through this maze of rooms: they did not know the _Leviathan_ as he did - and this would give him the advantage. If they could be separated...

A familiar presence in the Force manifested itself. The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed in a sly smile as footsteps emerged at the edge of hearing and grew steadily louder. Finally, the blast doors opened, and the three fugitives found themselves face to face with Darth Malak.

"Down you go!" shouted Carth, blasters blazing. Darth Malak deflected the shots with practised ease before placing the Republic officer under stasis with the Force. With Carth out of the way, he shifted his attention to Bastila and her companion. Revan! He looked very much like his old self, apart from the additional padding and somewhat messier hair. He'd also lost the stupid goatee.

"At last, we meet again," Darth Malak said.

"Step aside, Malak," replied the Jedi warningly.

The Dark Lord could not help but laugh. Step aside? Or _what_? Revan had always been funny, but _this_? This was rich...! "Ha ha ha...! I see there is more of your old self in you than I imagined, Revan."

The Jedi wrinkled his brow as he tried to make sense of Darth Malak's strange talk. **Revan**? If this was a distraction tactic, it was certainly a novel one. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

Darth Malak fairly goggled. "You _really_ don't know? Ah - ha ha ha...! So it is true...! You! _You_ are Revan. Do you honestly believe that you were only ever a pathetic Republic grunt? Is that what the Council told you?"

Wrinkling his brows further, the Jedi stared at Darth Malak suspiciously. Council? **He** was Revan? Evidently the Dark Side had made the Malak chap plain barmy.

"You're totally _nuts_, Malak. I'm **me**, and I'm no Darth Revan. Otherwise I'd have known. Savvy?"

The Sith Lord nearly cracked a rib laughing. "Revan, Revan, Revan. For once you are out of the loop. This... identity you have. This... Republic soldier-boy thing. It isn't true. _None of it is_. Surely - surely some memories of what you once _were_, what you _did_, where you _went_ - surely _some_ of those must have returned to you? Think, Revan. Dreams! Visions, perhaps?"

_Dreams_! _Visions_! Holy crap - that last crazy series of dreams he'd had while out on the blink after Admiral Karath's 'interview' - the bald man dressed in red... _Malak_! What was Malak doing in his dreams! The Jedi stared at the tattoos covering the Dark Lord's head, which mirrored those he had seen in his dream exactly.

The Dark Lord of the Sith continued talking. "We found the first of the Star Maps on Dantooine, Revan. Remember? How you paced to and fro before the final chamber... knowing we could never return to the Order were we to pass through those portals..."

Memories of the vision he had experienced on Dantooine surfaced. The Jedi's heart skipped a beat.

"...and I am certain you must remember how I betrayed you, when the Jedi attacked and I fired on your ship..."

_Force_. The first vision he had had - on the _Endar Spire_, above Telos - it couldn't be - Malak had to be reading his thoughts! It must be a tactic - the Jedi looked pleadingly at Bastila for confirmation. "Say it isn't so," he whispered.

Bastila suddenly felt very, very cold. The moment of reckoning had come, from which there was no return. "R- Revan... it is true, every word. I... I wanted _so much_ to tell you, but I could not - _please_ believe me, I - we - we had no choice - "

"It... is?" croaked the Jedi hoarsely. Darth Malak watched the interplay with considerable interest, taking a perverse pleasure in watching his former friend's world come crashing down about his ears.

"Forgive me, Revan - _forgive me_...!" cried Bastila. "Yes, I was sent to end you - but I did not know if I would succeed. The bridge - it exploded suddenly, killing _everyone_ there except you and I... and I found you amidst the wreckage, barely alive... and I could not kill you. _I could not_!"

The Jedi's voice was failing him. "You saved me?" he whispered.

Nodding frantically, Bastila continued. "Yes - but I could not save your knowledge of yourself - you were too badly injured, Revan... it was touch and go... and then, the Masters - the Masters, they learnt of it, and it was decided that Darth Revan would be laid to rest, and a new identity created for you..."

"The Masters _what_... reprogrammed me? Like... a **droid**?"

"_Exactly_ like a droid, Revan," commented Darth Malak. "That is all you were - all you **are** - to them. Expendable! A tool to be used and then cast aside. Surely you see it _now_, Revan? All this... posturing. All this **talk** of mercy and justice and compassion - fat lot of words and hot air!"

"That is _not_ true!" objected Bastila fervently, beginning her pleas afresh. "Revan - Revan, _please listen to me just this once_ - we **never** wanted to hurt you...! A new identity, yes - but tamper with your freedom of choice? **Never**...! I wish we did not have to do what we did... but the situation was so _desperate_, what alternative did we have? The galaxy was _burning_ - "

Revan's mind reeled in shock. The various visions, dreams... odd thoughts and what had seemed at the time to have been strange fantasies but were in reality suppressed memories resurfacing, remarks and cryptic observations made by Master Vrook... Bastila's numerous cautions and warnings... the unaccountable level of interest displayed in him by Dark Jedi from one end of the galaxy to another - all of it swam together in a wild pastiche of past and present - all of it unpleasant, and upsetting in the extreme. Anger at the Masters, at the Order... at Bastila, for their duplicity, connivance and manipulation welled up within him...

...until he plunged mercilessly into her mind, exploiting their Force bond, expecting defensive walls to be thrown up as they ever had been - and met no resistance. No deception. No satisfaction at giving a notorious Sith Lord his well-deserved 'comeuppance', no hatred, no ill-will...

Only a vast ocean of truth mingled with deep regret, sorrow, longing, fear, empathy, and... love.

_Love_.

Revan withdrew from Bastila's mind. There would be time to sort out all the knots later, but he now saw the path he must take clearly. Darth Malak noticed the telltale glint in his former friend's eyes which bespoke a firm resolution, and raised an eyebrow in an unspoken query.

"The answer is _no_, Malak. Not now, not _ever_. Those days are behind me."

Roaring like a maddened animal, Darth Malak threw Bastila into stasis, ignited his lightsaber and attacked Revan. Both men were soon locked in a deadly duel which took them through the maze of rooms. Bastila poured every bit of her being into fighting off the Force-induced stasis. She would have preferred to use her Battle Meditation to aid Revan, but this was neither the time nor the place. It took considerable effort and determination, but she finally succeeded in throwing off the stasis she had been under, just as Carth fell to the ground in an ungainly heap.

Racing through the warren of rooms, twisting this way and that, Bastila and Carth finally came upon the combatants - still at it, though Darth Malak was clearly losing ground - in the penultimate chamber to the hangar.

Getting Revan to safety was all Bastila could think of. Before Carth could draw his blasters, she had dashed into the fray, her double-bladed lightsaber a dizzying blur of glorious yellow. "For the Jedi!" she cried, Force-pushing Revan out of the chamber in which he and Malak were fighting.

Revan scrambled to his feet, shouting Bastila's name, but it was too late. The blast door slammed shut. It was sealed from within, and there was no way he could open it - even with his lightsaber. "_Bastila_!"

Carth was tugging urgently at his sleeve. Revan looked dumbly at Carth, then back at the blast door separating him from his beloved Bastila, and back at Carth again. The man's mouth was moving, but the words seemed to be coming from so very far away...

In frustration, Carth smacked Revan on either side of the face to get his attention. "She's _sacrificed_ herself for you, you **dolt**! Now make the most of it and _get_!" The Republic officer pulled Revan away from the scene and shoved him roughly into the elevator for their ride up to the hangar.

Their mad rush to the _Ebon Hawk_ was largely unopposed, and their getaway mercifully uneventful.

* * *

As soon as the _Ebon Hawk_ had jumped to hyperspace, Carth Onasi grabbed Revan by the collar and half-dragged, half-pushed him into the astrochart generator room, where the remaining crew members had gathered. Thrusting Revan roughly into the centre of the group, the Republic officer spat angry words at him.

"_Tell them_!"

Juhani caught Revan as he stumbled forwards. She hissed at Carth. "What is _wrong_ with you? Are you gone **mad**?"

"Mad? No. I've gone _sane_, that's what -" Carth pulled a blaster and pressed it to the back of Revan's head. "Tell them, you _freak_ - or I will!"

The Force push hit Carth harder than Juhani had intended for it to, knocking the Republic officer backwards into a wall and sending his blaster skittering across the floor. Zaalbar picked up the weapon and trained it on Carth.

Jolee jumped to stand between Zaalbar and his mark. "Whoa, whoa - _everybody calm down_ - HK, stay **out** of this! - put that weapon away, Zaalbar -" the old Jedi nodded at Mission, who hurried to relieve her Wookiee friend and Carth Onasi of their weapons. Canderous grunted and put his combat knife away.

Satisfied that the more immediately volatile parties were unarmed, Jolee addressed Revan, who was staring blankly into the astrochart. "Spit it out, son."

The distant look in Revan's eyes receded as he took in the expectant faces of his fellow adventurers. "I'm... Revan," he said softly.

Juhani's ears twitched. _Revan_? The galaxy had gone mad! She pounced on her dazed friend and shook him roughly. "Wake up! This is some Sith trick. They have addled with your mind!"

A hollow laugh came from the corner where Carth sat, slumped against a wall. "No Sith trick, Juhani. He's the real deal! Saul Karath, Darth Malak - they recognised him. Bastila! She _knew_, too - I was there, I **heard** it all..."

HK-47 whirred. "Anticipation: Master, is it true? _Are you Revan_?"

Revan nodded. "Unfortunately so, HK."

"Pleasant surprise: Oh, Master! This is a most _serendipitous_ occurrence! I - my servos -" The droid's processor lights brightened significantly as its cores reset themselves with a shrill beep.

"Elation: It is good to see you again, my Master. How I have missed you! You are **much** changed, Master. This is _most_ distressing! Perhaps I can cheer you up by killing something for you?"

Mission cocked her head to the side. "HK - are you saying you know - _knew_ - Revan?"

"Answer: _Evidently_, meatbag. My Master is also my creator. All hail the Dark L-"

Revan cut HK-47 off abruptly. "_Creator_! **Me**? As in - _I_ built _you_...?" HK-47 made an affirmative reply. Revan groaned. So _he_ was the absolute _sociopath_ responsible for this maniac's creation! His headache grew steadily worse. "Grife...!"

The verbal and emotional outpouring which followed HK-47's identification of his original Master bordered on incoherence.

Canderous literally fell to his knees in worshipful adoration, pledging his service to the man who had so thoroughly humbled his people. "There is no greater honour for me now than to serve at the feet of the greatest warrior Mandalorians have ever faced," he gushed, while Juhani staggered backwards, laughed strangely and pointed, all the while talking of disjointed episodes of her history - Telos, her family... the destruction suffered by the Cathar, the Jedi she had seen, the Jedi - one Jedi! - she had heard... how she had been inspired to put her gifts to use... the Order, joining the Order...

...Carth shouting imprecations that nobody seemed to hear or heed save Mission, who met each of Carth's paranoid accusations with shrill proclamations of Revan's - the _new_ Revan's - innocence, declaring that the new man could not be judged by the actions of the old - T3-M4 beeping frantically as the little astromech droid tried to get someone - anyone! - to pay attention to it because it wanted to know what was going on, HK-47 exultant and singing the praises of Darth Revan...

...Jolee shouting at everyone to _shut the hell up_ and let Revan talk, because Force knew how difficult all this must be for Revan, a lesser man would have gone **spare** from the revelation, and shouldn't they _all be thankful _that he was being square with them... and above the general ruckus, Zaalbar roaring a reaffirmation of his life-debt.

Revan didn't know if he would die from the combined shock and noise - or if he would go crazy - or, _worse_, be driven back to the Dark Side. He didn't want to wait to find out. So he did the only thing any man in his situation would have done: he thumped the astrochart generator vigourously and hollered.

"Shut up! _Shut up_! **All** of you! Do you have _any_ idea - any idea, _at all_ - what this is? To _me_?" He pounded the generator once more, for good measure.

"**My** life has just been ripped into two! I don't even _know_ what to _think_ anymore! And _none of you_ is making it easier! I didn't ask to be Darth Revan... Revan - **whoever** - I don't even _know_ him! I thought I was just _me_ - plain old me, Republic soldier... Jedi... another nameless face - but now I don't know if _anything_ that I think I _do_ know is _worth_ knowing...! And Bastila... _my Bastila_ - she's been taken, and Force knows what will happen to her -" he broke off, unable to continue.

Breaking away from the rest of the assembly, Jolee approached the former Sith Lord. He put a sympathetic arm around the grieving man and backed out of the room with him, motioning to the rest of the crew not to follow.

* * *

Carth was waiting at the pantry the following morning. He pushed a mug of hot tea towards Revan as the latter shuffled through the door.

"I'm sorry," said the Republic officer gruffly. "I've been a right ass."

Revan sat down heavily and stared at the tea. Bastila loved tea, he thought, the remembrance of her near-addiction lifting the corners of his mouth temporarily. Then he remembered where she _wasn't_ - and sighed painfully. Carth nudged the mug of tea a little closer and hovered about uncertainly.

"Look, I... I'm no good at apologies and talk, man. Not like some folk... always know what to say..." began Carth. "But I did some thinking... we all did... and I feel _terrible_... for you, man. All of us do." The Republic officer sat down across from Revan and nudged the mug of tea a little closer. "Drink up. Do you a world of good."

Blinking as the swirls of steam tickled his eyelashes, Revan raised the mug to his lips. Carth took this as a sign of encouragement to talk more, and continued.

"I... don't know how you can even stand, actually," the Republic officer confessed. "If I were in your shoes - man...! Would've _spaced_ myself in an instant."

"Hnnh," grunted Revan. "The idea had occurred..." He smiled briefly and shook his head. "...but then the Princess would never forgive me."

Carth looked over the rim of his mug as he took in a mouthful of tea. "Yeah. She'd haul your ass back to the Council - if there's still one - and _demand_ that they mind-wipe you into something more compliant. Like... a _cabbage_."

Revan grunted again. "Hnnh...! How'd you find out about the cabbage thing?"

"You talk in your sleep, genius."

Revan laughed in spite of himself. "Crap - what else have I said?"

The Republic officer poured himself a fresh mug of tea and inhaled its vapour. "Enough."

"Eh?"

"Enough for every man on this ship to know that you're a _goner_ where the Princess is concerned, that you can't abide spiders, and that your dreams include mathematical equations."

"Good heavens."

"Mission's a _very_ astute kid. I reckon that when all this is over, we should really look at getting her into a proper school. She said - " Carth stretched his legs out along the length of the bench " - she said that people speak from the abundance of what's in their hearts - something like that - and by golly, the kid's right. You haven't _been_ Darth Revan, buddy. You've been... **you**. Revan was a good man, you know. Real _solid_ chap. Jolee said so."

"Jolee?"

Carth stirred his tea thoughtfully. "Yeah. Seems like Mr Senility there'd guessed who you were, way back on Kashyyyk. That's why he tagged along. Wanted to see what you'd do with the second chance you'd been given."

Revan nodded. "I see."

The Republic officer leant across the table. "Are you angry?" he asked. Revan shook his head.

"I did some thinking too," he admitted.

"And?"

"You're all being very decent about this - about me being, well, me. Grife...! And... and I'm _grateful_ for that. Heck - I'm actually even grateful to the _kooks_ on the Council who came up with the bloody nerfbrained scheme to start with...!"

Carth laughed at the unflattering description of the Jedi Masters. "Yeah?"

"Huge risk, man. Bastila was right. They hid my past from me, cooked up an alternate life... but apart from enlisting me in the Republic army and taking me back into the Order, every step on the way has been one of _my own_ making. **My** choice. I guess you could say that they... gave the old Revan his life back, free from the monster of his own creation." Revan finished his tea and pushed the mug over to Carth for a refill. "Maybe _that_'s what kept Bastila from killing me, huh? Maybe she looked _inside_ the monster - and saw something that could be saved. **Me**."

Carth pushed the refilled mug back across the table. "Point."

There was a new earnestness in Revan's voice. "_That_'s why I've **got** to save her back, Carth. Her - and the galaxy for which I once _stupidly_ chose to fall in order to 'protect'. If **I** hadn't made that hubristic choice, _all this needn't have happened_."

The two men clinked their mugs solemnly as the _Ebon Hawk_ hurtled through hyperspace, nearer, nearer to Korriban.


	15. Chapter 15

Mission stared disbelievingly out of the viewport as the _Ebon Hawk_ touched down on the surface of Korriban.

"This is _it_?" she demanded. "_This_ is the place the Sith, like, came from? I can't believe it - it's like, it's like, even a _rancor_ wouldn't want to live _here_, and they're like, every damn where..." She wrinkled her nose up in disgust. "I mean, like, this place - _man_, and I thought like, Tatooine was a total _shit-hole_, right? Like, it's a total desert or _something_ and what could be **worse** than a desert, huh? I don't see any plants out there - and this place _ain't_ even a desert, like, it's like... all the green stuff's just packed up and _moved out_ or something." Mission twitched her lekku in disapproval, and turned away from the viewport.

Jolee stroked his beard and sucked at his teeth. "Hmph. Don't let this planet deceive you, child. _Worse_ things than rancors to be found here, and that in wild abundance." He stepped back so that Revan could have a better look at their new surroundings. "See anything familiar, son?"

Revan stared at the immediate bleakness of Dreshdae. Beyond the boundaries of the settlement, the vast, craggy, windswept landscape of Korriban spread outwards in all directions. Mission was right - there wasn't a single plant in sight. He wondered how the native fauna that Jolee had described to him managed to survive: being at the top of the food chain wasn't much use to an animal if there wasn't enough _below_ it to keep the balance of nature in check...

Then it hit him. Imbalance. Of _course_ - the whole planet was _hideously_ imbalanced! It was thoroughly _corrupted_ - thoroughly immersed in the Dark Side - utterly out of sync, a denial and a perversion of the delicate balance of life - a denial of the preserving laws of nature which _themselves_ made life a continuing possibility. Revan thought to himself that if this were so, one could reasonably expect the native fauna to be nothing short of abhorrent and _dangerous_ - perhaps even Force-resistant or brimming with the Dark Side of the Force. After all, their very existence was itself a massive denial of the fundamental laws of nature...

Jolee nudged Revan for a reply. "Recognise the place?"

Revan shook his head and moved away so that Juhani could have her turn to look. "Not one bit. I got a bad feeling about this place, though."

Cracking his knuckles, Jolee sniffed and replied. "Hmph. Bad feeling is better than no feeling, in my book. This place is bad, _bad_ karma."

The Cathar Jedi turned away from the viewport with a visible shudder and looked at the two Jedi. "There is great darkness here. Horrible. Why would _anyone_ embrace it?"

Revan grimaced and hung his head, reminded of a past he could not remember, and with which he had yet to come to terms. Realising that she had unintentionally raked up painful thoughts, Juhani hurried to remedy the hurt.

"I am so sorry - please, it is not you - _not anymore_. I _know_ that! **We** know it!"

"I know." Revan looked up, a sad smile on his face. "Doesn't change my past, though." He exhaled softly and left the cockpit.

Lost in thought, Revan wandered the corridors of the _Ebon Hawk_ aimlessly. What had he done as the Dark Lord? He knew, from the little that Master Lamar and Bastila had been willing to divulge, that Darth Revan had been a deadly, formidable foe. His researches in the Enclave's library had painted a similar portrait: Darth Revan had swept across the galaxy in the wake of the Mandalorian Wars like an unstoppable shadow, each strike and every attack surgical, precise, strategic, unwasted. Darth Revan was a man with a goal - but _what_ had that goal been? Why did he - Revan - choose to become the monster? How many lives had Revan taken? Why Malachor? There had been so much death and destruction. And Darth Malak - the erstwhile apprentice - from whence did that thorn spring?

It was painful to think of: Darth Revan had destroyed so much, broken so many lives, and yet his legacy lived on - in Darth Malak, the current conflict, the numerous Dark Jedi and Sith Acolytes here in Korriban.

Revan stared blankly ahead as he wondered just how - and where - he could start to atone for the errors of his unremembered past. _Was atonement even possible_? He had brought the galaxy trembling to its knees, humbled the Order... and now he must piece everything together again.

Looking about him, he realised that he was sitting on the edge of a bunk in the women's cabin - Bastila's bunk. Her belongings - a change of clothes, some neatly-folded underwear, a simple hairbrush - and one or two small, personal effects sat untouched in the nook beside her pillow. Picking up the hairbrush, Revan observed that some hairs still clung to it. As he cleaned the brush by picking the hairs out of it, a conversation he had had with Jolee the last time they were on Dantooine sprang to mind.

He'd been sharing the fruit of his latest researches into Revan - ironic! - with the old man. In the course of their discussion, Jolee had told him about Nayama and her fall, confessing that he could not bring himself to end the woman he so loved. He had asked the old man if there was any hope for Jedi who fell - or if, once fallen, they were irretrievably lost.

"Lost?" A brief flash of pain in the old Jedi's eyes, quickly replaced with a serious, thoughtful depth.

"No, son - not irretrievably... up to a point. The Force is not unkind. It gifts us all with the power of choice: _how_ we exercise that power is up to _us_. Falling doesn't strip you of your power of choice - not all at once: you have to choose, each step of the way, whether you will fall _further_... or if you want to _turn back_. And though the Force will not save you from the _consequences_ of poor choices, it's always reaching out... calling, seeking those who have lost their way. _How_ varies from person to person. It might be a friend, a teacher, a foe, happenstance - even a loved one. The warning signs and the invitations to return are marked out all along the way - but if one chooses time and time again to fall, a little further each time, gradually the path becomes so dark that you _can't_ see no warning nor invitation... and _then_ it becomes harder to turn back, because choice is now almost impossible to exercise. After all, if you can't see the options, do you _really_ have any choice?"

"So... redemption is possible - but you have to work hard to earn it?"

Jolee had been alarmed at his conclusion, and quickly corrected him. "No - now put that idea _straight_ outta your mind, son...! Force have _mercy_...! You don't 'earn' redemption, boy - it's _offered_ to you, just like I said! You either takes it, or you don't. 'S as simple as that. Remember them warnings and invitations all along the Dark path I told you about? Well. _Right there_'s redemption! Like what's his face - Ulic - Ulic Qel-Droma - he didn't go lookin' for redemption: _redemption_ went lookin' for _him_. Lil' Vima! _Led by the Force_, and no doubt about that...!"

"But _surely_ there must be something - atonement?"

The old Jedi narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. "Eh? I thought you were supposed to be **smart**, boy! Look, I'm gonna make this simple, 'cos I'm old, and I don't want my jaw goin' arthritic. Redemption's a _gift_. You junk it, your choice. Stay Dark, suffer the consequences. You take it, fine an' good - you _still_ suffer consequences, but now you have a _chance_ to make _amends_ - if you wish to. Making amends in order to earn, or 'pay up' whatever due you think you owe the Force for saving your ass is missing the destroyer for the ion cannons, 'cos second chances are _only given to the undeserving_. Puttin' things right because it's the **right** thing to do, or because you're grateful - _which you bloody well better be_ - now that's different..."

Things became overwhelmingly clear.

There was _nothing_ he - Revan reborn - could **do** to atone for or expunge the dark deeds of his past. There was _nothing_ he could do to _earn_ his return to the Light. But the Force had seen him walking a path that led to certain destruction, and had intervened: Darth Malak, Bastila, the kooks on the Council. It had set him back on his feet, given him that _undeserved second chance_ - and let him decide if he wished to take it. So far, he had chosen well - but those choices were the choices of a man who did not know who he was: arguably, the choices of a man who had never strayed from the Light.

Now, knowing who he truly was - _Revan_, once _Dark Lord of the Sith_ - he stood at the crossroads. If Revan was truly to be redeemed, Revan must recognise, acknowledge, and accept the Force's offer. The Dark Side would not give up its prey without a battle, he knew. The way ahead - if he accepted redemption - would be beset with difficulty, but it would not be an impossible path. "With the Force, a Jedi may accomplish what at first seems impossible," Master Kavar had told him when he first came to Dantooine. And if the Force had offered him redemption, then it stood to reason that the Force would also be with him as he made his way back to the Light.

He pulled the last strand of hair free from the brush, and laid it alongside its fellows. Gathering up the strands, Revan coiled them neatly into a circle, which he fastened with a stray thread plucked from the fraying edge of Bastila's blanket. Then, tucking the little circlet of hair into a fold of his tunic, just over his heart, Revan stood and walked purposefully out of the women's cabin, purpose shining in his eyes.

Revan had made his choice. He would accept redemption, _come what may_.

* * *

Bastila shrieked as Darth Malak sent Force Lightning coursing through her, convulsing violently on the stone slab to which she had been shackled.

"I will _never_ turn, Malak!" she gasped as the last of the Force Lightning faded, returning the ancient mausoleum - it could only have been a mausoleum - to its depressing half-light.

"'Never' is a very long time to suffer, my dear Bastila," said Darth Malak as he adjusted the voice control on his prosthetic jaw.

"Revan will be here soon," spat Bastila, turning her face away. The sight of Darth Malak sickened her. The pompous, arrogant brat! ...at least he had let her keep her clothes on.

Darth Malak laughed mirthlessly. "You think so?" Pausing for dramatic effect, the Dark Lord raised a gloved finger and shook it at the captive girl. "You don't know Revan like **I** do, Bastila."

"He is not as you remember him!"

"Oh, come now - you cannot be so _naïve_. Revan inspired loyalty - because he himself was _intensely_ loyal. And _you_, my dear girl, have _betrayed_ him."

Bastila bit her lip and stared daggers into the wall. Darth Malak strolled about the mausoleum and rattled on.

"You, the Masters he met on Dantooine... _everyone_ in the Order. Look at it from his point of view. What _reason_ have **any** of you given him to trust you?" Darth Malak paused mid-circuit and turned to face Bastila. "Of course, you are thinking that Revan will make an exception where you are concerned - you believe he loves you."

Shutting her eyes, Bastila did her best to ignore the deceptively placid tones of her captor. Of _course_ Revan loved her! The silly man had done his best to highlight the obvious - polishing her boots for her when he thought she was asleep, making her breakfast... generally going out of his way... and then there was the kiss they had shared.

"...and of course, you must be thinking - with the Enclave destroyed, the Council on Coruscant are certain to send out a search-and-rescue party. Only, my dear Bastila - have you thought of _why_? Why Revan loved you - why the Council would risk more precious Jedi when so many have already died, just for you?"

"Revan and I are none of your business, and the Jedi respect all life!"

Darth Malak bellowed with laughter, and cast more Force Lightning at Bastila. Her tortured screams echoed down the hall. When all was still again, the Dark Lord bent over Bastila and whispered in her ear.

"The Council are interested in you _only for your gift_, my dear. Your precious Battle Meditation. And as for Revan..." - the Dark Lord of the Sith paused and stroked the edge of Bastila's jaw almost gently - "...he is a _man_, and like any man, Revan cannot help but admire a beautiful woman. _But if he believes her to have betrayed him_..."

The mirthless laugh returned, accompanied by more Force Lightning.

* * *

Carth smacked his palm onto his face and rubbed vigourously as soon as the Twi'lek Sith Master was out of sight. "What is this, now?" he moaned. "Earning 'prestige'? _Holy mother of meteors_...! A frackin' **popularity** contest -"

"It passes, I think, for grades in this place," sniffed Juhani as she looked around the small cell. "Though I would do the best I can to forget this 'Code' that they teach here, if I were yourself. It is a perverse thing."

"Speaking of grades, O Great Leader... I mean, _Master_ - how _exactly_ do you plan on improving your average?" quizzed Carth. "According to Teacher, you either kill, lie, steal or connive your way to the top - not exactly **Jedi**, if you get my meaning." He looked expectantly at Revan.

"Means I can't waste any time. Got to be faster, smarter, and wiser than all the hopefuls out there. And much, much more _careful_ too - if I'm to survive this place... or come out of it 'still Jedi', as you've said. _That_'s why I need the _both _of you to stay with me," stated Revan matter-of-factly. "Three pairs of eyes is better than one. Besides, I'll need all the moral support I can get."

"Then we have no time to lose," Juhani stated. "Where intend you to be starting?"

Revan considered for a moment before replying. "Well - she did mention the existence of four Sith tombs, roundabouts. And Uthar Wynn has hinted that there are artefacts in one or more of the same that he'd be interested in. Anyone up for a spot of tomb-raiding?"

Juhani and Carth agreed wholeheartedly with this proposition, it being the least objectionable method of garnering 'prestige' they could think of. These were Sith tombs, after all, the contents of which arguably already belonged to the Sith... and what with the long-dead status of the tomb occupants, they would hardly be obliged to engage in murder.

The trio set off down the long corridor leading to the central atrium at a brisk pace, Revan leading the way with Carth at his side. As Carth rounded a blind corner, he collided with a young Sith student who had been engrossed in reading something off a datapad. The datapad clattered to the floor. Murmuring apologies, Carth stooped to pick up the dropped item.

"Frackin' _fool_ - use your eyes or I'll _gladly_ relieve you of them!" snarled the student angrily, his hands balling into fists. Carth stood and stared incredulously at the student - the boy sounded _just like Dustil_... he even _looked_ like Dustil - by the Galactic Core... it **was** Dustil...! The datapad clattered to the floor again.

"_Dustil_...? ...my **son**...!" Wonderment, incredulity and hope danced across the Republic officer's features, quickly replaced by shock and horror as he realised that his son - _his dear little boy_ - was now under the tutelage of the Sith. The _Sith_! Carth's fatherly heart cried out in woe.

Juhani blinked hard. She stared at the young Sith student - he looked _so much_ like Carth! But how old was he? so hard to tell with Humans... maybe eighteen? - then at Carth, who was struggling to maintain his composure, and back at the young Sith again.

Dustil's right eyelid twitched involuntarily as he glared at his father. "I _have _no father," he hissed.

No father! Carth tried to reason with his son. "Dustil - I don't know what they've told you in this place... or what they've _done_ to you, to - to _force_ you to - "

"_Nobody_ 'forced' me to do _anything_! When you left Telos, I was all alone with Mother. Have you any _idea_ how much we missed you? It was always that precious Republic of yours that came first. Not us! And then when Telos was attacked - _where were you and your precious Republic ships_? Nowhere! **I** watched Mother die. I watched as her blood seeped into the soil of our garden. Where were _you_?" demanded Dustil angrily.

Revan rolled his eyes in disbelief. Family drama? _Here_? **Now**! Aww, _nuts_. He grabbed both men by their collars and hauled them into an empty storage closet where the argument could continue unheard.

Dustil bristled with rage at being peremptorily stuffed into a small space with three others, one of whom he had no particular liking for. He lashed out verbally at Carth. "You _promised_ to look after us. You always said you would take care of Mother, but _where were you_ when we** needed** you? Where were you when she was hurt? I was _captured_, did you even know that?"

"Son, I - I came as soon as I could... you have to understand _all_ of Telos was surrounded by the Sith...! We had to fight our way through the blockade, they didn't make it easy -"

"You should _never_ have left us! _Mother_ would not have died if _you_ had been there, _doing your job_!"

"I looked _everywhere_ for you, Dustil - everywhere! Nobody knew where you were - "

"That's because I had been _captured_ - you never _listen_, do you? But here - here, _everyone_ listens! I have a family now - a **real** family - here! You always said the Sith were trouble, but the Republic's _worse_! The Republic took _you_ away from us - the Republic took _Mother_ away from me - "

Carth couldn't believe his ears. He wanted badly to make Dustil see sense - but he knew his son. Dustil was not the most reasonable of persons when upset, and Dustil had loved his mother very much. He tried a different approach. "Dustil... my son... Yes. I was late. But _not because I did not love you_... or mother. I have missed you both for - for so very _long_. It's all right if you won't believe me, son. You say the Sith are better than the Republic, that they're your family now - "

"Well, they **are**!" retorted Dustil. Carth held his hands up in a gesture of placation.

"Fine. I just want the _best_ for you, Dustil. I _always_ have. So give me this one chance, all right? Family is about _trust_. It's about respect, love, mutual help... all of those things, but it's also about _openness and trust_. Now, if the Sith are really family to you, then you have to be able to trust them, _one hundred percent_. Right?"

Dustil glared at his father, but did not disagree.

"I'm going to make a deal with you, my son. Don't tell anyone that... well, that _we're_ here" - Carth gestured at himself and the two Jedi - "and if by the time we're done here, I **still** haven't given you solid proof that the Sith are evil, you're free to join them." Carth waited for a response.

Stubborn and vexed though he was, Dustil Onasi was still not beyond reason entirely. His father's offer made sense to him. A large part of him yearned to be back in the home he had grown up in - Mom, Dad... even just Dad now would be great... it would be like old times, when he could talk about his day and share the things he had done, places he had gone to... people he had met... Dustil nodded his assent. Carth set his lips in a grim smile of relief.

"Thank you, son. It's good to see you again. I love you."

"Whatever." Dustil Onasi pushed his way out of the tight confines of the closet.

The interview was over.

* * *

Bastila squinted and turned her head, craning her neck in the hope of spotting some glimmer of light - even a faint glow would suffice - to no avail. Her surroundings were dark, dark, dark. How long had she been here? Night, day, sunset, sunrise - she did not know. Everything had rolled together into one dark, depressing whole, broken only at odd intervals by Malak's visits. And always they were the same: endless questions, torture - always Force Lightning - though occasionally Malak would amuse himself by choking her. Bastila was thankful that he had left her otherwise unmolested. Her wrists and ankles were blistered from the manacles that had been clamped to them, and she was hungry. Not starving: just _ravenous_. Malak had been careful to keep her well hydrated and fed - but only enough to sustain life. She could barely summon the energy to focus her thoughts, or draw sufficiently on the Force to touch the bond she shared with Revan, never mind find the strength to jailbreak herself.

She wondered where Revan was now - and how he was getting on in their mission. Would he come for her? Now that he knew? Eventually he would have to find her - if not by choice, then by force of circumstances... after all, it had been the goal of this mission to end the Sith menace - now Revan knew about the Star Forge, he would have to find it... and Malak would be there, waiting. Bastila was sure of it. And when Revan destroyed Malak... _would he remember her_? Would he free her, take her back to the Enclave... back to the Jedi, where she belonged? Or would he abandon her... because she had been complicit? Frantically, Bastila tried to reassure herself by replaying the times Revan had been affectionate to her in her mind. He loved her - of _course_ he would remember her! - she'd ignored, or done her best to ignore, him at the time, but now she found herself trying to hold on to these bright moments before they faded away.

They tended to fade away a lot more now than they had at first - when she was new to this horrid place. _Wherever_ it was. Maybe Malak was right - Revan was nobody's fool, and now that he knew of the game that the Council had played, and she too along with them... how could he _ever_ trust her again? How _could_ he love someone who had, to put it bluntly, 'played him for a fool'? But surely - Revan would understand - she had had no other choice: the Masters had sworn her to secrecy, their need had been dire...

...would the Council send rescuers? Did they even know she had been captured - Revan could relay the message... but _would_ he? Would the rest of the crew? And assuming that a message _was_ relayed... would the Council care enough to send someone? Maybe the Council would wait and see - it always did, preferring to mull over its decisions, convening _endless_ discussions in committee before committing itself - but how long could she hold out? It had been **ages** before the Council approved the actions of the Revanchists, by which time half the galaxy was aflame. How long more could she wait? A horrible thought suggested itself. If Revan successfully destroyed the Star Forge and ended the Sith menace - she, Bastila, would no longer be as vital to the Republic's success as she had been...! Her Battle Meditation would no longer be needed -

Panic, apprehension and worry combined with her own insecurity to form a weight of considerable volume. Bastila struggled under it. No, no, no...! She **must** resist these thoughts - it was this place, it was the darkness - not just physical darkness... it was the Dark Side - encouraging, whispering these suggestions -

Bastila tried to make herself more comfortable on the slab to which she had been manacled, but shifting her weight only made the bruises and burns covering her body harder to bear. She gave up trying to move herself and stared into the dense blackness around her, expending the precious little energy she had left on holding off the fears that threatened to crush her.

A low, grinding sound echoed in the distance, accompanied by a tiny sliver of light.

"Still undecided, my dear Bastila?"

Malak was 'visiting'. _Again_.

* * *

Juhani, Carth and Revan sat in a circle discussing the day's events.

"Not bad for the work of one day," commented Juhani. "But I would be _very _careful about... redeeming so many at one go. Too quick you move, and here they will suspect."

"You mean the kids in that damp cave?" asked Carth. "I don't know if our friend here 'redeemed' them so much as... opened the doors for them to go out there and find their own way back - but your point is a valid one. Go easy, man. Any of these kids get caught, they'll probably be tortured, and then the Sith'll come looking at you."

"I'll be careful," promised Revan. "All the same, this place - this travesty - is the fruit of my own hands, and these kids would be living much better lives if not for the things I did as Darth Revan. I feel I owe it to decency to set them straight where the opportunity arises."

Juhani clicked her teeth. "Admire the intention, I do. And agree also with you that to make things... correct is only right. But to be _careful_, yes?" Revan smiled and nodded at the Cathar, who dropped the subject.

Scratching Carth lightly on the shoulder with her claws to get his attention, Juhani asked, "Your son! How old now is he?"

Carth frowned. "Dustil? ...nearing twenty. _Good heavens_ - he's nearly _grown_ -"

"...twenty, then," repeated Juhani to herself. "And how old, you are?"

"...thirty-eight, though I _really_ don't see what sig-"

Revan did the math. "Eighteen's awfully **young** to have gotten hitched at, isnt' it?" he commented. "Nineteen, if one counts Dustil as not quite twenty..."

Juhani leant back against the wall and exhaled with a soft 'pfft'. "Do all Humans take mates so young?" she asked.

Carth wrinkled his face as he scratched the nape of his neck. "Erm, well - no, not... _usually_, but, ah... there are instances, _exceptional_ circumstances..." he stammered. "We... well, um - you could say Morgana and I were... one of the... _exceptions_."

Smirking, Revan bit back a chuckle. He had a very good idea what these "exceptional circumstances" were. Putting an arm around Carth, he spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone. "Wonderful! You know, Juhani's _always_ been interested in cultural studies - haven't you, Juhani? ...and as a fellow Human, I agree with you that marrying in one's late teens is indeed the exception rather than the rule. I think it would be _very_ educational if you were to explain to Juhani when, and how, such... exceptions arise."

Juhani's eyes widened in puzzlement when she heard herself referred to. Put on the spot, Carth misinterpreted the Cathar's wide-eyed expression for one of enquiry and felt compelled to answer. Revan, you shit-stirrer! The Cathar are famous for their taboos regarding family - marriage in particular... He cleared his throat and tried to put it across as diplomatically as he could.

"Erm, well. You see, my wife - Morgana... erm, she was... we were young, and... _in love_, and ah, I loved her _very_ much..."

"..._much_ and _often_..." murmured Revan under his breath. Carth heard it and jabbed him sharply in the ribs, while continuing to talk. Revan drew up his legs, rested his forehead against his knees and tried not to laugh openly.

"...yes, erm, I mean - no - I mean..." Carth scratched his neck again. Juhani blinked.

"Ah, her family demanded it?" she queried. "But surely an engagement would have been sufficient for you to be seen together!"

Jawas on dewbacks - this is hilarious! thought Revan as he shook with suppressed laughter. He decided to give the simmering pot another stir.

"Yeah - why not just an engagement? I mean, _no hurry_, right?" Carth jabbed Revan in the ribs again.

Juhani watched her friends with great interest. So strange, these Humans could be!

"...ah, um... **no**. We... ah, we... decided that things... between us... had, ah, _developed_ to the point where... we should just... tie the knot," said Carth, picking his words carefully.

Unable to contain his amusement further, Revan barked with laughter. "'_Developed_'! Ha ha ha! _How_ many months' 'development' are we talking here?"

Carth threw Revan's arm off his shoulder and rubbed his forehead energetically. "...kriffing _asshat_," he muttered.

Months? Development? The Cathar gaped at the Republic officer in horror. "Carth Onasi! You **did** something to the girl! You made her _with child_! Didn't you?"

Revan had by now given up all pretence of ignorance, and was laughing for all he was worth. Carth flushed red with embarrassment and scuffed his boot at Revan.

"Yeah, yeah, _yeah_ - laugh all you want, you _nerf-herder_...! Wait till it happens to **you**," scowled the Republic officer. "Look - we were _young_, all right? And in love! And I would have married her _regardless_ - this... the, the... pregnancy just... _hurried things along_. It's not as if I was just _messing_ with her..."

Juhani goggled. Did Humans have **no** sense of propriety at all? Sunry - growing 'tired' of his mate and having adventures with another woman! The nobles on Taris, always swapping spouses between themselves! And now Carth Onasi and his wife - married early because they could not wait! ...at least Carth had done rightly for Morgana, thought Juhani. From all that she had observed of Humans, she wasn't certain that many Humans would have done likewise.

"It is good to know you took responsibility," she informed Carth, before excusing herself.

Carth barely acknowledged Juhani's departure, preoccupied as he was with boring holes with his eyes through a still-chortling Revan.

"By the Twi'lek goddess, that was _classic_," coughed Revan, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Lieutenant Carth Onasi! Decorated war hero, legendary soldier... and teenage father. That's one hell of a resumé..."

Carth snorted. Viewed from that perspective, it was indeed funny. The corners of the Republic officer's mouth twitched upwards as he tried to maintain a stern expression.

"Shit-stirrer!"

"Teenage father!"

"Asshat."


	16. Chapter 16

Bastila shivered. She was hungry, tired, disoriented and thoroughly miserable. Her wrists ached painfully where the manacles had cut into them. How long she had been cuffed to that stone slab, she did not know. She had been greatly surprised when, following their last 'interview', Malak had ordered the manacles removed. Of _course_ she had been suspicious - and she did not hesitate to say as much.

"Not afraid that I might use the Force against you?" she had hissed.

Malak had laughed at her. "Use the Force? Ha, ha, ha...! My dear Bastila - you are welcome to try," he said. "Only I'm afraid that in your current state, you will meet with little success."

Then he called for more light to be brought. A female Dark Jedi came bearing a torch... a _lit_ torch, one with an actual flame, not the usual halogen variety -

"Perhaps a little experiment, my dear?" Malak had stated in his horrible tinny voice. "A Jedi of your skill and training should not find it difficult to extinguish the flame using the Force."

Bastila shivered again, more from remembering what had happened next than from the all-permeating chill of the stone walls that surrounded her. She had been hesitant, reluctant to try at first. After all, Malak was a _Sith_, and the Sith were known for manipulation. Also, she was a _Jedi_ - since _when_ did Jedi do the bidding of the Sith? So she had resisted, and stubbornly ignored Malak, preparing herself to endure another excruciating round of torture. It didn't happen.

As a matter of fact, Malak had been impressively restrained, for a Sith, in his response to her insouciance. He had merely raised an eyebrow and given a tersely-spoken order for the torch to be placed in front of her, just out of reach - and then he had made his exit, leaving her all alone with the burning torch for company. He hadn't even bothered to re-secure her to the slab. For the first time since her captivity, Bastila had been able to stand on her own feet and walk.

Not that I managed to do more than stand and stagger about briefly before having to sit down for a breather, thought Bastila ruefully. I've become so... _weak_. She stared morosely at the burning torch, wondering if - and whether it would be appropriate - to test her Force skills by attempting to put it out.

For the first time in her life, Bastila found herself unable to decide. _Should she attempt to extinguish the light_? She would be able to gain a rough idea of her current emotional and mental state by doing so... but did she **really** want to know? Physical weakness was one thing - mental weakness, another. The Force is the true source of a Jedi's abilities, thought Bastila. A Jedi had to be attuned to the Force - _alive_ to it - in order to harness its power. But that required a single-minded dedication to the Force - the _Light_ side of the Force.

What if she attempted to extinguish the flame, and failed? What did _that_ mean? Bastila wasn't sure she wanted to go there. Apart from the what-ifs, she was plagued by other disturbing thoughts: Revan - did he blame her? Would he choose to remain in the Light now - now that he _knew_? Juhani - a brand, plucked from the fire - what would become of her? Jolee - 'grey', the Masters would have called him... but there was no denying his devotion to the Light. What did that make him? Or _any_ of them? Poor Carth - his paranoia was sure to worsen - she was responsible for that, too... would she see them all again? Then there was Malak. Lately, he had started to make an odd sort of sense, and this perturbed her greatly. Was she going soft in the head? Was she going Dark? Did Malak actually have a point after all was said and done - or was he really, truly, completely corrupted?

Then her thoughts revolved back to the torch, still burning away. What if she tried to summon the Force to extinguish the flame, and failed? That would mean that she had failed to centre herself, failed to achieve the internal equilibrium fundamental to a Jedi... would it also mean that her dedication to the Light was wavering, that she was no longer attuned to it? _What would that make her_?

It all frightened her. So she had allowed the torch to burn itself out. When Malak returned some time later, he noted the pile of ash on the ground and ordered for another torch to be brought. She had allowed that one to burn out, too. And the one after that, and the one after that.

Now, with the light of the fifth torch casting shadows on the wall behind her, Bastila knew that Malak would not stop bringing torches in until she had tested herself, her connection to the Force - her validity as a Jedi. There was no running away, not here, not anymore.

Bastila reached out a trembling hand to the flame, shut her eyes and tried to focus... focus, _focus_... the flame - the Force - _extinguish the flame_...

After what felt like an eternity, she opened her eyes again.

The torch continued to burn.

* * *

He was running down a corridor he had never seen before. Its grilled floor plates clanked sonorously beneath his feet every step of the way as he ran madly down its seemingly-endless length. Occasionally figures would emerge, like ghostly shadows, from the walls - red blades glowing dangerously. Onward, forward he pushed - cutting each adversary down, some more easily than others. Still he ran on. Eventually he came to what must have been the end of the corridor, only to find that it culminated in a dead end.

No, not a dead end - a door. He tried it - it was locked. He looked behind him: no more Sithy things - only two figures, running towards him from the distance... he wasn't sure who, or what they were, and he didn't want to find out - he tried the door again, and then the floor shook violently as the door flew open, sucking him inside a vast chamber filled with glittering stars...

_Bonk_. Ow! Head hurt. Dizzy. Something heavy landing beside him...

"Sweet Trandoshan flatcakes - buddy, you okay?" Carth and Juhani bent over Revan as he lay in a heap on the floor next to his bunk.

"Good grief - he's _still_ out of it..." The Republic officer slapped Revan on both sides of his face to wake him up.

"_Ow_! Carth, stop it - I'm awake!" Revan opened his eyes and sat up, rubbing the back of his head where a bump was forming. He grimaced. "I think I fell out of bed."

"Full marks to observation," quipped Juhani drily as she helped Revan to his feet. The Cathar Jedi nodded at the tangle of blanket and bedsheets. "Careful. You took everything with you."

Satisfied that his friend was no longer in immediate danger of braining himself on the floor, Carth busied himself with tidying up. "What's on the agenda today - tombs? More spelunking?"

Revan yawned and stretched. "Marko Ragnos, Tulak Hord, and Ajunta Pall. Take your pick."

"Thought you said there were four?"

"The fourth one - some Naga Sadow chap's - is apparently out of bounds, except to the 'privileged' select," replied Revan. "Which makes me suspect that there's something in that last one that we **really** want to look at." He rubbed his nose and yawned again.

Juhani stroked her chin. "Another Star Map?"

Revan nodded. "Quite likely. Only one way to find out, though - earn more 'prestige'..."

Half an hour later, the trio were creeping stealthily down the hall of Marko Ragnos' tomb. Tiny, glittering eyes stared at them out of the darkness and then darted away to the sound of skittering feet. Juhani bared her teeth in a silent hiss. Rats! _Filthy_, disease-ridden creatures...! But of course there would be many, _many_ rats here... The Cathar told herself to ignore the rats, and pressed forward, her sharp eyes scouting ahead in the dim light for any threats. Nothing that she could see... or sense. Juhani sniffed. The air of the tomb was stale, but carried with it the faint stench of something that ought to have been buried long ago... what was **that** on the floor just ahead?

Motioning for her companions to be very quiet, Juhani crept soundlessly towards the thing she had spotted. A _body_...! Ugh - rotting and wormy... no wonder the rats - half-turning about, Juhani fought down the urge to retch and gestured to the two men behind her to watch their step. While stepping over the corpse, Juhani noticed some discarded equipment lying on the floor a short distance away. A datapad - a stealth unit?

Carth and Revan huddled around Juhani as she powered up the datapad and read its contents.

The Republic officer's eyebrows receded into his hairline. "A droid that goes bonkers when it _hears_ stuff? How's _that_ for impractical programming?" he whispered.

Juhani handed the stealth unit she had found to Revan. "Still working - to use," she instructed. Then she felt about in the pouches on her belt for her own stealth unit, put it on and activated it. Carth did likewise, and the trio continued deeper into Marko Ragnos' tomb. At last they reached a door set into the carved rock. Juhani put her ear to it and listened intently.

"Something behind the door is moving," she told the men. "It make a sound like HK-47."

"The droid," whispered Revan. He searched their vicinity for a means to open the door but found none. Strange - a door with no means to operate it? Then it occurred to him that perhaps the door was meant to be opened only by means of the Force: after all, this _was_ the tomb of a Dark Side Force-user...

Revan concentrated for a moment before raising a hand and making a small sweeping gesture. The door slid noiselessly open, revealing a large circular chamber which echoed with the sound of regular, clunking footsteps.

The patrolling droid stopped in its path around the chamber as soon as its photoreceptors registered the presence of the trio.

"Query: What are you doing here?" it asked. Revan and Carth exchanged wary glances - the droid talked just like HK-47!

"Our apologies - we did not mean to interrupt your, ah, duties," said Revan as amicably as he could. "Please, ah... continue."

The droid whirred as it tried to assign this statement a suitable logarithm value in order to determine the appropriate response. It couldn't find one. Confused, it fell back on its primary programming - protocol.

"Statement: Thank you for being considerate of my audioreceptors, organics. I regret that I am unable to be of any assistance to you. You will have to leave."

"Erm, it was... no problem, really," said Revan, thinking fast. Noise - the droid hated noise - but of course! How long had the droid been here? Five, ten years? _More_? How long had Marko Ragnos been dead? Listening to the echoes of its own footsteps day in and day out - no wonder the thing had gone funny. He attempted to dialogue with the droid.

"I must say that you're an excellent specimen of engineering," he commented. "If I didn't know better, I'd have said you were brand new! Your welding is _perfect_..."

The droid's processor lights brightened perceptibly. "Appreciative response: Thank the Maker - an organic who notices and appreciates detail! I **do** like to make the effort, you know. Regular maintenance is _key_! I give myself a good polish once a fortnight."

Carth started to laugh at the droid's unintentional double entendre, but quickly turned it into a choking cough when Revan stepped on his toes.

"True, true - and you've done an _excellent_ job - your circuits haven't corroded, or anything," Revan remarked.

"Shock: Circuits? Are my circuits showing?" The droid lowered the blaster it was carrying and looked about itself in alarm.

"Oh no - I was merely remarking on your _excellent_ upkeep."

The droid practically buzzed with delight at the compliment. It had been so long since it had had a proper conversation with anyone - particularly an _organic_! - and the organics who had been trying to get into this tomb? Well! They were rude. Noisy! Always setting off mines, making a ruckus... but that was all in the past. This organic was nice. Polite. **Quiet**. Its cores hummed with android approval.

Seeing that the droid had started to warm up to the idea of conversation, Revan continued to talk. "I don't suppose you get many visitors?"

"Disappointment: On the contrary - _many_ are the visitors that have come here... or attempted to. But they are all so noisy! Bangs, crashes, shouts, explosions - " the droid whined. "Does my audioreceptors in. No consideration, at all!"

"Dear oh dear," murmured Revan. "Nasty. How long has it been going on?"

"Regretful expression: Forever," replied the droid. It clunked over to the sarcophagus in the middle of the room. "I myself do not know how long I have been here - only that I have been here too long, _too_ long."

"But you're in excellent condition - surely you could always... seek alternative employment?" queried Revan.

"Amusement: You do not understand, organic. I do not possess the programming necessary to operating the door which you obviously do. Egress is therefore impossible. Even if it were not, my, ah... secondary programming..."

"Secondary programming?" repeated Revan, pretending he did not know what the droid was referring to.

The droid's processor lights blinked momentarily. "Observation: You are a **most **atypical organic, organic. Your kind are not usually this interested. Perhaps you can assist me. I would like my secondary programming deactivated."

"You do not like your secondary programming?"

"Regret: It is an _inconvenience_, organic. Now that you have opened that door, I might, as you have suggested, seek 'alternative employment' elsewhere. Unfortunately, many organics are uncomfortable with assassination droids. Their processors seem incapable of handling the very suggestion."

Damn _right_ you are, thought Revan. **One** HK-47 roaming the galaxy is bad enough! "How can I help you?" he asked the droid.

"Statement: There is a means of deactivating my secondary programming permanently, organic. However, my primary programming prevents me from informing you _exactly_ how this may be done."

Revan frowned. "Then how - "

"Elucidation: I may, however, provide clues. A warning, organic. Should you fail in your attempt to assist me, my secondary programming directs that I am to shut you down permanently."

Charming - just _charming_! "Erm... all right, I get it. Erm. You... ah, can start giving me the clues."

Revan, Carth and Juhani listened very carefully as the droid reeled off a series of interrelated clues, the Cathar making a recording of what was said on the datapad she had retrieved earlier on. Once the droid had finished its recital, she handed the datapad to Revan, who studied it carefully, burning notes into the floor with one of his lightsabers as he tied the clues together. Then he went over the clues again, comparing and cross-referencing them with what he had himself written. Once he was satisfied that all was in order, Revan approached the waiting droid.

"Think I've got it. With your leave...?"

"Agreement: Of course. I wish you success, organic. It would be most unpleasant for you if you were to fail."

Careful not to confuse the order in which the droid's various functions had to be deactivated, Revan proceeded to shut down one matrix after another - combat... motor function... sensory systems... memory - what was next? Ah, yes, cognitive... emotional construct - this thing had _emotional constructs_, what a joke! - creative simulation. That was it. He wiped the beads of perspiration that had formed on his forehead and watched the droid warily.

The droid did not move. Its processor lights blinked several times, then dimmed and blacked out entirely.

Carth drew his blaster in readiness. Juhani activated her weapon. "Is it done?" she asked warily.

Revan continued to observe the droid. "I... think it's powered down. As in - its core seems to have shut down automatically."

"Is that a good thing or a bad?" queried Carth, as he advanced slowly towards Revan.

"...not sure," confessed Revan.

"_Not sure_! What the -"

"Hey, as long as it's not actively trying to **kill** us, that's a good sign! We'll just have to - oh." A low hum emanated from the droid as its servos and core powered up again. Carth primed his blaster and aimed at a weak spot in the droid's chassis. Revan peered at the tiny script which appeared on the small technician's screen built into the droid.

"'Delete assassination programming'? 'Activate self-destruct mode'? ...delete programming," he muttered, selecting the former option. The droid's core hummed gently for a while, then went quiet, the soft glow of the processor lights being the only indication that the droid was not completely powered off.

Eventually the processor lights brightened and the droid came back to life with a series of clicks.

"Oh, hello!" said the droid cheerfully. As it raised a hand to wave at the organics, its photoreceptors registered that it was holding on to a blaster.

"By the Maker...!" The blaster dropped, and Revan caught it neatly before it hit the floor. Deactivating the weapon, Revan placed it on the top of the sarcophagus.

"How do you feel?" he asked the droid.

"Positively _salubrious_," the droid informed him. "My servos are static-free! Oh, I say - you've done a **very** lovely job!"

Revan grinned at Carth. "That's great. You're free to go now - just... don't talk to too many organics outside, all right? They... might not like your lack of... programming."

"Naturally," replied the droid. "They're _Sith_. They're the ones who gave me that _horrid _secondary programming to start with!" Having made this remark, the droid proceeded to divest itself of its weaponry before clunking its way to freedom.

The trio quickly ransacked the sarcophagus and left.

* * *

Darth Malak's eyes creased at the corners as he smiled. Not that anyone would see, of course. The heavy prosthetic jaw fitted about the lower half of his face had been deliberately designed to intimidate and impress - which functions it discharged most admirably, much to the pleasure of the Dark Lord of the Sith. Alek the sidekick had been largely ignored, while _Revan_ received the adulation, admiration, and approbation befitting his hero status. Alek's speeches and calls to arms tended to draw polite applause and few volunteers: Revan's, on the other hand, won _multitudes_ to their cause. If Alek had been the symbol of courage and death-defying bravery, Revan had been so much **more**. Revan had been hope, fortitude, justice, retribution and leadership _combined_. Revan, as the press had put it then, had been "the Jedis' own Crusader". Their movement had even been named after him - the _Revanchists_. And they even gave Revan a snappy new title: _The Revanchist_. Not 'a' Revanchist - **The** Revanchist.

It didn't stop there, of course.

There had been many... admirers of Revan, both from within the ranks of the Jedi who had followed them as well as from the Republic army itself. Some of these admirers had allowed their admiration of Revan to ferment into something _quite_ extraordinary. Malak remembered that Revan had 'freaked out' when Alek and he returned to their hideout from a night-time reconnaissance mission to find two young females _literally_ lying in wait for him: the idea that beings might desire to sleep with him _purely_ because of his iconic status had obviously never occurred to, and in fact _disturbed_, Revan _greatly_. Thereafter, Revan started being much more secretive - even going as far as to start wearing a full hood and cloak at all times of the day, regardless of the season.

Of _course_ it backfired. The new air of mystique surrounding Revan only made him **more** popular. Consequently, Alek had been forced to step up security around his friend. What a _fool_ this Alek was! mused Darth Malak. So _weak_! So ineffectual! No _wonder_ the crowds gravitated toward Revan. Alek, forever in the shadow! Alek, forever playing second fiddle! Revan could have snapped his fingers and dozens of women would have swooned at his feet, offering themselves to him - but Alek? He had _pleaded _with a girl once, the fool - and she had turned him down. Alek had been **very** hurt. He had wanted someone to care for, weak and simpering fool that he had been - but nobody, it seemed, wanted to care _for_ Alek. Everyone cared about Revan - but Revan simply didn't want to know.

Upon hearing a soft brushing behind him, the Dark Lord of the Sith turned to look. Bastila stood with a hand raised, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, which now seemed harsh to her eyes for all the time she had been locked in the dark. Gone was the tan-and-brown outfit: in its place she wore a dark-coloured tunic and bottoms, which served only to highlight the ethereal pallor of her skin.

"Ah, Bastila. My Apprentice." Darth Malak motioned to Bastila, who obediently knelt before him, awaiting his command.

"Your lightsaber, Bastila," said the Dark Lord. A Dark Jedi Master hurried over and presented Bastila with her own lightsaber, which had been confiscated from her following her capture. She received it with a nod of thanks.

"You will need a new crystal as befitting your status, my Apprentice," intoned Darth Malak as he floated a single red crystal to the kneeling girl. "As your Master, I now gift you with one."

"Thank you... my Master." Bastila said quietly, as she pocketed the crystal. At a nod from her new Master, she rose to her feet and withdrew.

Darth Malak's eyes creased with glee again as he resumed staring out of the window at the wilderness of Lehon. _How the tide has turned, Revan_! he thought. You **never** understood Alek. How _could_ you? You had _everything_ Alek desired but did not! And Alek was a damnable **cretin** for having neglected to even the score. But I - _Darth Malak_ - am no fool. You love this Jedi girl, Revan? _I have made her my apprentice_. Is she not the brightest star in your firmament? _I will obliterate the sun of her being from your sky_. Think you that she is beautiful, and lovely, and good? _I will scar her soul and corrupt her mind_. Would you lay down your life for her, Revan?

_I will teach her to destroy you, and all that you would protect._

* * *

Carth sat down heavily on the edge of his bed and started unlacing his boots. "Three tombs in one day, buddy - that enough 'prestige' for you?"

"I should think so," said Revan. "We'll find out tomorrow."

"My congratulations to you, Revan," said Juhani as she ran a hand through her hair. "I did not think that to convince the... Mekel boy, you could. But wrong you have proved me to be: and glad I am of it."

The Republic officer looked up. "Where's the kid gonna go? Dantooine's all... dust now. Coruscant?"

"I don't know," said Revan. He flopped onto his own bed and kicked off a boot. "Sounded to me as if he was just... going to give up the Force altogether. Still -" he kicked off the other boot "- even that's preferable to staying here with **them** lot..." Revan jerked his head in the direction of a series of loud bangs and crashes which reverberated through the stone walls of the Academy. Another student fight!

"I've more hope for the Algwinn fellow. Let's hope he's got the sense to go to Coruscant and not Dantooine."

"What about Dustil?" asked Carth abruptly. Revan sat up and looked thoughtful.

"So far nothing useful we have found. These Sith are careful," observed Juhani.

"Still - there's got to be _something_, right? I don't want to leave my boy here!" Carth exclaimed.

"...we could... break into Uthar Wynn's room," Revan ventured. "I overheard him talking to the other Masters on our way here. Said he'd be going out for a drink or two tonight, and would they make sure not too many students end up killing each other prematurely -"

The Republic officer brightened. "You think you'll find something in there?"

"Worth to try," said Juhani. "I do not think us he will suspect for breaking in. _Too many_ are the troublemakers here to count. Any one of them also it could be."

Carth considered this for a minute. There really weren't that many options, and already they were running out of time. If Revan proved to have earned sufficient prestige tomorrow in order to enter the fourth tomb, and if that tomb contained what they had come here to find, then they'd likely be out of Korriban by this time tomorrow, without Dustil. It would have to be Uthar Wynn's room, or nothing.

He agreed to the proposal.

* * *

Late that night, Revan lay awake on his bed as his companions slept. His mind replayed the events of the day: Marko Ragnos' tomb, followed by that of Tulak Hord, then Ajunta Pall's crypt. He had been able to achieve something truly positive at each Sith tomb he had visited today bar one - that of Ajunta Pall's. Sighing at the thought, Revan turned on his side and drew the blanket more securely about him.

He'd sensed the unmistakable presence of the deceased as soon as he stepped into the tomb. The others had felt it, too, and clearly expected the wraith - it certainly resembled what wraiths were commonly rumoured to look like - to attack. Instead, the disembodied spirit had simply floated up to them, moaning and mournful, exuding regret with every syllable. Much to the horror of his companions, he had conversed with the Force ghost of Ajunta Pall. Their conversation revolved largely around the deep and abiding regret the dead Sith felt for his past misdeeds, which Revan could only empathise with all too well. He had tried to convince the departed Sith that redemption was still a possibility, but ultimately failed in his attempt.

Ajunta Pall had been touched, though. If Force ghosts were capable of being touched. What interested Revan more than how Ajunta had felt was something the dead Sith had said to him before dissolving into thin air: "Too late, too late! It is _forever_ too late for me, young one. So **many** times I could have turned back, but I never did. The days of my choosing are over, and now only regret is left! _Choose wisely while you may_, young one... let my history not be yours."

The woeful spirit had a point, Revan thought. The power of choice was a good, yes - but its intrinsic value lay **only** in its ability to effect a _result_ - whatever that result might be. As long as a being lived, it was connected to the world around it in various ways, and could change that world for better or for worse by virtue of the choices it made. But when a being passed from the world of the living to that of the dead - when it _ceased_ to live - its days of choosing, of touching and changing the lives of those around it, or of actively constructing its world were well and truly _over_.

Revan thought about the countless Jedi Masters who had since gone to their rest. Some of them had been **very** powerful individuals during their lives. If people were able to 'change allegiances', so to speak, from beyond the grave - it would be a _dire_ thing if, for argument's sake, the spirit of _Exar Kun_ or some other pathological Sith Lord were able to make the rounds and convince these powerful 'elder ones' to turn...! The havoc currently being wreaked by Darth Malak and company would be a playground fight as compared to the _incalculable_ damage potential of generations of powerful Force users who, being already dead, would be _quite _impossible to kill.

So there is a _limit_ to the Force's offers of redemption, thought Revan as he turned on his bed again. Life is like a long period of _probation_. Here and now is where one decides: _every_ decision postponed, every choice bypassed is a **gamble**. _Nobody_ - not even the greatest of the Jedi Seers - can know _precisely_ when they will meet their end. You can be breathing and warm one second, dead and cold the next. Life is fragile like that. And when death comes for you, as eventually it must, there is no telling whether a final opportunity to turn around _will_ be there, waiting for you at the very end. One must therefore seize every opportunity presented along the path of life to_ do what is right_, to _make amends where possible_ - to _turn back_, if one has lost their way - because_ one never knows_. A feeling of immense gratitude flooded through him as he considered his own situation.

Sitting up, Revan re-angled his pillow and lay down again. Carth mumbled something in his sleep and continued snoring: Revan wished that he too was fast asleep.

Other thoughts flooded into his mind. _Bastila_! He wondered where she was - and how she was doing. The bond they shared - would he be able to use it, to get a sense of how she was faring? He stared into the dense blackness and decided to give it a go. He wasn't sure it would work - after all, Bastila could be hundreds of parsecs away now - but something told him he must try.

Rolling onto his back, Revan shut his eyes and willed his mind to focus on Bastila, remembering how the Force felt when she was beside him... the brightness he associated with her... how it had felt in his mind when he had one of those shared visions...

...Bastila. Was **that** Bastila? So... unhappy and... cold, and... _hurt_ and resentful - that wasn't _like_ Bastila at all! - so... despairing. And such _anger_, too!

Thoroughly disturbed, Revan brought himself back to the present and tried to make sense of it all. So it was possible to touch their bond - did that mean Bastila wasn't too far away? What had _happened_ to her? So many dark sentiments! So unlike the obstinate, doggedly stoic, dependable - and unwittingly funny - girl he had met and fallen for...! Had she - could she have - **no**, it was terrible to think of - _Malak_! What had Malak _done_ to his Princess?

The night dragged painfully on.

* * *

"Impressive. **Most** impressive!" The corners of Uthar Wynn's mouth twitched in a twisted semblance of a smile as he stared down his nose at the young Sith aspirant. "You have earned sufficient prestige, Candidate. But there is one _final_ test."

Hooray, final paper, thought Revan sarcastically. He kept that opinion to himself and smiled at the gloating Sith Master. "Naturally."

"Your instructor is Yuthura Ban, I believe? A most promising one. You will proceed to the tomb of Naga Sadow. She and I will meet you there for your final test, Candidate."

"Got it. What's this test, by the way?"

Uthar Wynn bellowed with laughter. "Scared, are we? You'll find out soon enough. Maybe you'll survive it, maybe you _won't_." Still rumbling with laughter, the Sith Master strolled in the direction of the training rooms.

Carth trotted alongside Revan as the trio made their way back to the student rooms to begin final preparations. "We have to find Dustil **now**," he urged. "I read that datapad we found. Who this 'Selene' is, I haven't a clue - but _damn_! I'll bet every last credit to my name she must've meant something to my boy. Otherwise the Sith wouldn't have done her in, would they?"

"They did **who** in?" queried Revan.

"_Selene_! These bastards killed some kid, some girl, because she was apparently holding Dustil back or something -"

"Holding him back?"

Juhani interrupted. "Meaning that Carth's whelp had a liking of the girl. The Sith, more than the Jedi, are averse to... such feeling."

Revan stopped short. "You mean Dustil had a _girlfriend_? And they... the Sith _killed _her for that?"

The Republic officer gestured animatedly. "Yeah! Look, I read the whole damn datapad, okay? There's... there's seriously a lot of frackin' _questionable_ content on it, and it's all down there, detailed like - like Uthar what's-his-face made notes of every poor sod he _murdered_ -"

"- all right, I get the picture," said Revan quickly, detecting a sharp spike in emotion from Carth. "We go find Dustil now."

Dustil received his visitors with an expression of boredom. "Don't waste my time if you've nothing solid to show me. I have better things to do."

Carth produced the abstracted datapad from a secret pocket in his jacket. "Recognise this?" he asked his son.

The younger Onasi's brow furrowed. "Hey...! Yeah, that's - that's _Master Wynn's _datapad - where did you... did you, you guys **broke **into Master Wynn's room?" He snatched the datapad from Carth and looked it over. "One datapad, scratches to the casing, lots of oily fingerprints. **Wow**. Some proof."

"Power it up, son."

Dustil raised his eyebrows, set his lips into a stubborn line and turned the datapad on. The screen glowed and came to life, displaying a lurid picture of three very naked, very nubile humanoid females, all of different species, locked together in a tangled embrace of arms, lekku, montrals and legs. Revan, who had been peering curiously at the datapad over Dustil's shoulder, gawped and bit back a laugh.

The younger Onasi ignored the datapad's explicit wallpaper as he went through the contents of Uthar Wynn's datapad.

"Dad - _what the_ - look! This? Is by very, _very_ far, the _largest_ single collection of... porn that I've **ever** come across - and in _this_ place, that's _really_ saying something - but if you're actually _expecting_ me to up and leave just because of some... overweight balding guy who probably _hasn't_ seen his hydrospanner in years and needs to view this...** trash** just to reassure himself that it's _still _attached, you've got to be kidding!"

Carth smacked his palm into his forehead. "Not the frackin' _porn_, Dustil! Oh, give it here - see? Under 'Mentorship Notes'. Down - there's a folder with... yes, _that_'s the one. Selene... you know any Selenes, son?"

Dustil blinked a few times. "Y-yes... I mean, not now, I... I did. Once." He blinked some more. "She had an accident. She died. _I don't want to talk about it_." He looked at his father. "Is this really necessary, Dad?"

"Read it, son. You wanted proof. I _got_ you proof! Don't back out on me now," Carth urged.

Figuring that the best way to get his unwelcome visitors out of his room without drawing the attention of his fellow students would be to just read the damn entry, Dustil complied with his father's instructions and started reading.

The minutes ticked slowly by as Dustil read and digested the contents of Uthar Wynn's diary. The more he read, the more unsettled Dustil felt. So Uthar Wynn **had** known of the relationship between Selene and himself, and he had disapproved? But he - Master Wynn - he had _always_ asked after her when they happened to run into each other... I thought he liked her! I thought - Dustil's brows started to knit in consternation. Trembling, he raced through each subsequent entry with a growing panic - Selene, mission to... dangerous... to go alone... _Dustil is not to be informed_... must be kept away from her... assassins? **Assassins**! Uthar Wynn had sent _assassins_ after Selene!

The datapad fell from Dustil's fingers. Juhani reached out and caught it in time to prevent it from breaking.

"...son?" Carth hovered beside Dustil, compassion in his voice. "Dustil, I -"

"..._oh my goodness_..."

"I'm sorry, my son."

"I didn't _know_ - Selene, she - "

The Republic officer laid a tentative hand on Dustil's shoulder as the young man gave in to his grief. No words were needed. Revan and Juhani tactfully moved to the far corner of the room, where they manifested an absorbing interest in the masonry.

"How could I not have-"

Carth put an arm around his son. "It's _not_ your fault, Dustil."

"I could have **been** there for her, I should have -"

"Son, I understand."

Revan and Juhani stared uncomfortably at the wall and at each other as Dustil wept in his father's arms. Eventually, Dustil collected himself.

"You were right, Dad. I'm _done_ with the Sith."

Carth heaved a sigh of relief and nodded. "You... got any plans?"

"I - I don't know. I mean, there're _lots of kids here_, Dad... like me. _Taken_. I kinda owe it to them at least to... to share what I've learnt."

Dammit, Dustil - now you start going all sensible and decent on me, thought Carth. But he knew his son was right. "Be very, _very_ careful, son. I already lost you once. _I don't want to lose you again_."

Dustil nodded. "I know, Dad. Not everyone here's... nice. But there are one or two people I'd like to... to save. Before it's too late."

"Where will you go after that?"

"Telos, I guess."

"I'll meet you there, son. But what about _after_?"

The younger Onasi looked at the two Jedi standing in the corner. "If they'll take me, I'm going with the Jedi," he told his father.

_Redemption_! thought Revan as he eavesdropped. Dustil had chosen well.

He hoped the others would, too.


	17. Chapter 17

Revan crept stealthily through the darkness of Naga Sadow's tomb, one lightsaber illuminating the way. Behind him lay the bodies of several hulak wraids. Those Revan had anticipated to meet with: what he had not was the strange atmosphere of this tomb. So very unlike any of the others. It was... different. _Very_ different. The weird chill that permeated the air here had been absent from the other Sith tombs he had previously entered: it was a sort of brittle coldness that was almost palpable. How was he to describe it? It wasn't '_cold_' cold - no, in fact the temperature was very comfortable - but there was a definite _something_, a sort of strange, icy _something_, in the air.

Ducking just in time to avoid landing a face-full of cobweb, Revan tried to pinpoint exactly what it was that he was feeling. Not physical cold. Metaphysical, then? Probably. This tomb felt alive - as if it pulsed with an energy. The Force? Yes, _definitely_ the Force - only it felt strange, alien, oppressive. Most disturbing of all, it also felt _familiar_. Revan wiped the sweat on his brow and turned a corner. He knew that the familiarity stemmed from his previous career as Dark Lord of the Sith, a being immersed in and fully given over to the Dark Side of the Force. He couldn't remember the Dark Side or how it had felt to use it, what it had been like to wield such power: not _consciously_ - but the Dark obviously remembered **him**.

Revan didn't like that.

It called to him, this coldness - this near-tangible darkness in the tomb. It called to the fallen Jedi, the antihero whose memories and persona had been rendered inaccessible by the Masters on the Council. It reached out to him, the _old_ him, through the darkness as if saluting an old friend, holding out promises of unwonted power and vast stores of arcane knowledge.

_Give in_, sang the darkness to Revan in its siren voice. Carth and Juhani need never know. They are not here, after all - they are waiting in the Sith Academy. You would not be making the mistakes of Revan Past. _He_ embraced the Dark: you will only be _borrowing_ its strength... look at what he birthed! A _vast_, unstoppable armada. The galaxy _will_ burn again, brighter and faster than ever it did if you do not survive... the Light is insufficient to carry you through, Revan. You _need_ the strength of the Dark. A _noble_ act, Revan - lose yourself to save the galaxy. Is not the life of a Jedi one of sacrifice?

"Aargh...!" Revan paused in his passage along a narrow corridor and pinched himself hard. "No. No, no, no...!" These ideas, these thoughts - they are a distraction. The Dark Side is strong in this place - stronger than any location I have visited thus far. It _knows_ me, the **old** me - Revan, who had fallen once before - and it wants me back. Revan rested his forehead against the cold stone wall. Was this, then, the struggle with the Dark that Jolee had warned him of? What if he... allowed himself to fall, again? No. No! He could not - _must not_! - allow that to happen. The tide of suggestion receded for the moment.

He pressed on, and soon found his way blocked by a heavy stone door. A very soft, irregular snuffling came from behind it. _What was that_? As he bent to listen, the door creaked open of its own accord, revealing a vast chamber in which lurked two large, dark shapes. By the glow of his lightsabers, Revan could make out horns, claws... large, toothy, slavering mouths...

A crumpled something lay on the floor just a few feet away. Revan squinted as he tried to make out what it was - another wraid? No, those were remains - long decayed...

Moving very slowly so as not to alert the monsters to his presence, Revan approached the remains. A quick search turned up an old datapad and a corroded metal cylinder. Revan's fingers brushed across the metal cylinder as he retrieved the datapad. As the rusting metal of the cylinder crumbled into powder, a bright something glinted sharply in the dust. Revan picked it up. A _crystal_! So the cylinder - that must have been a lightsaber, and the remains - a Jedi? A Sith?

Revan quickly retired to where he could examine his finds without risk of being spotted by the beasts. He wiped the crystal gently on his tunic, and held it up to the light provided by one of his lightsabers. The crystal sparkled brilliantly, throwing flecks of light onto a nearby wall. _Beautiful_, thought Revan. Flawless and perfectly cut! As he rotated the crystal in order to view it better, he noticed that the gem had started to glow. It was as if some internal light source had been activated. Laying the crystal flat in his hand, Revan watched as the glow spread out from the centre of the crystal, growing brighter every moment until the entire crystal itself was hidden in light. Revan stared in wonderment at the crystal as it pulsed with a glory of its own. This _cannot_ have belonged to a Sith, he thought. There is... there is something _special_, something comforting and out of the ordinary about this gem - it certainly _doesn't_ feel Dark. I wonder what it is?

Remembering the datapad, Revan tucked the glowing gem into a pouch on his belt before powering up the small tablet and skimming through its contents. So the crystal had belonged to a Jedi...! Shaela Nuur - that was her name. Hang on - wasn't she one of the Three that the Council had sent to hunt down terentateks...? Poor woman - she had died alone in the end, her companions killed one after another, by the creatures they had been commissioned to slay. And then Shaela had come here - on the trail of a terentatek... _Force - those things behind the door must be terentateks_...!

Doubt entered Revan's mind. Didn't that Twi'lek Jedi in the Enclave describe those sent by the Council to execute the Great Hunt as being individuals strong in the Light Side of the Force? Shaela must have been a _remarkable_ Jedi indeed to have been chosen for this mission - what had happened? If she - a Jedi _devoted_ to the Light - had fallen in the end, what did that mean for **him**, broken and compromised as he was?

The seducing notions returned to haunt Revan - the _new _Revan - with a vengeance. Now you see that the Light _cannot_ give you the strength you need to survive! If the Light truly is the strength of a Jedi, then it is _paltry_ indeed. Terentateks are creatures of the Dark, warped and twisted. Yet they have slain, and drunk the blood of Jedi walking in the Light. Embrace the darkness, Revan! _Be who you once were_. Be strong. Powerful. _Live_! Fight fire with fire!

Revan struggled with the temptation. How was he to benefit _anyone_ - how was he to find the Star Forge, much less destroy it - if he failed to survive this next challenge? How would he be able to find the fourth and final Star Map if he were to become terentatek fodder? Perspiration formed on his forehead as the conflict raged within him.

Fighting to centre himself, Revan re-read Shaela's datapad thoroughly. The entries, few though they were, sufficed to outline the career of the deceased: Shaela, a courageous Jedi... devoted to the Light side of the Force... her lover, slain by a terentatek... fear, anger, grief - turning into hate and loathing. A desperate thirst for vengeance had consumed her, and in that desperation, Shaela had consciously chosen the dark path, believing that it alone would enable her to accomplish what she desired to do... she had followed a terentatek back here - to its lair! - fully intending to assail and overpower it in the power of the Dark Side; and in the end, she had fallen alone in the darkness.

But _surely_ her Force powers would have sufficed? Then he remembered something the Twi'lek Jedi in the Enclave had told him: terentateks were resistant to Force powers. _Damn_! But what about Shaela's lightsaber? Why didn't she use it? Could it have malfunctioned? That's _crazy_ - why would a Jedi's lightsaber _malfunction_?

Then Revan remembered something he had heard recited whilst on Dantooine: "The crystal is the heart of the blade. The heart is the crystal of the Jedi. The Jedi is the crystal of the Force. The Force is the blade of the heart. All are intertwined. The crystal, the blade, the Jedi. _You are one_." The datapad screen flickered once, twice, and then darkened entirely, its battery fully drained.

One! thought Revan. Heart, blade, crystal, Jedi and Force - one! What did that _mean_? The Force, the blade of the Jedi's heart? How did that relate the Jedi to a crystal? ...a Jedi could only be the crystal of the Light for as long as -

Inspired with a sudden idea, Revan fished out the strange crystal he had found and stared at it with increasing interest. This crystal - could it be one of _those_ legendary crystals he had heard Jolee and Juhani gossip about? One of those crystals overflowing with the Force? Was it possible that this crystal responded _only_ to the Light...? The crystal glowed even brighter in his hand, as if it sensed his thoughts and was confirming them.

Revan's mind boggled at the implication. This crystal had once belonged to Shaela Nuur... and if it was truly one of those legendary crystals of the Jedi... then... Shaela had died _precisely because_ she had chosen darkness over light...! If this crystal would respond only to one who walked in the Light - then when Shaela deserted the Light, it would have _ceased_ to function... so it had not been the Light which deserted or betrayed Shaela: rather, Shaela had deserted the Light, and the_ Dark_ had betrayed her. Revan squinted at the crystal in his hand, which was now glowing so brilliantly that it looked as it if were on fire.

He smiled, finally understanding. When Shaela thought to answer fire with fire, forsaking the Light, she had unknowingly forfeited her greatest source of strength. The Dark was tempting, seductive, ever ready to make promises - but in the end, it would only bring desolation and certain destruction. The Light did not promise ease, comfort, power or even survival - but it assured one of its companionship and peace: to the end, and beyond. The comfort that such assurance brings - that in itself is priceless, and is its own strength and reward, thought Revan.

Firmly shutting his mind to the siren song of the Dark, he gripped his lightsabers tightly and marched on to face the terentateks.

* * *

Bastila stared disconsolately at her lightsaber, which she had partially disassembled. The yellow crystal she had been given on the occasion of her ascension to Padawan winked brightly at her - a happy, contented golden yellow that reminded her of lazy summer days spent lolling in the long grass of the Enclave garden, munching on fruit sneaked out of the kitchens...

Those days are long gone, Bastila told herself. The Order left me behind after I outlived my usefulness to it. Just like the Light Side of the Force has left me... and the Masters who sent me on that stupid mission... and the crew of the _Endar Spire_, they left me behind, too - if someone had been there in the pod with me, I mightn't have crash-landed and then been captured, and put up for auction... and Carth, and Revan...

...Revan. Has **he** forgotten me? thought Bastila. She allowed herself a moment's recollection. Revan, making her tea in the pantry, and getting it wrong half the time. Revan, laughing fit to kill himself when he'd found her asleep on duty in the cockpit and drooling all over the controls. Revan, forever finding new compliments to apply to her... she had sacrificed herself for him on the Leviathan - would he remember that? Maybe he would come back for her. And then, if he did, she would explain to him how things had happened - how she hadn't really fallen, how she hadn't chosen the darkness - the Light had deserted her, and the darkness was all that was left - she would explain to him how _desperately_ alone she felt, how... _misunderstood_ she had been, how she had been made use of, her trust and faith _abused_ by a scheming Council, a grasping and corrupt Republic - nobody had ever seen her as _just Bastila_, or _appreciated_ her for that: it had always been her Gift, how she was special. Would Revan understand that she just wanted to be liked and loved for who she was? _Would he still see her as Bastila, even now_?

A lump rose in Bastila's throat as she tipped the sparkling yellow crystal out and held it in her hand.

"You will destroy the crystal in your lightsaber and bring its shards to me," Darth Malak had instructed. "It will symbolise your severance from the Order and your renouncement of its ways."

Tremblingly, Bastila placed the gem in a specially-constructed metal vice. The crystal continued to glow brightly, its colour as happy and warm as ever. Her hand hovered over the lever. One push, and the vice would clench shut, shattering the perfect gem forever.

Bastila dithered. Revan had also given her a crystal - in fact, he'd given her several. She'd stuffed them all in one of the pouches of her utility belt. _Surely_ one of them... Bastila's hand strayed to the pouch on her belt. Perhaps she could...?

The footsteps echoed warningly from outside. **Malak**! He must be coming to check on her! Panicking, Bastila pushed the lever down. The metal vice clenched shut with a sickening scratch. The footsteps stopped some distance away outside. A muffled exchange - then footsteps again, receding into the distance. A false alarm!

With an anguished cry, Bastila raised the lever. No bright, happy yellow sparkle greeted her eyes. Only a sorry-looking patch of crystalline powder lay where the gem once had.

She sank to her knees in inexpressible sorrow.

* * *

It was well past nightfall when Juhani, Carth and Revan returned to the Ebon Hawk. Canderous' alert eyes noted that each member of the returning party had been affected by their experiences in the Sith Academy in varying ways - Juhani had lost weight, while the worry lines and wrinkles on Carth's forehead and the sides of his eyes had deepened. Revan's walk had acquired a sudden gravity which was impossible to ignore. In a rare display of diplomacy, the Mandalorian had refrained from indulging in a full-scale interrogation of the trio. While Carth and Juhani went straight to the cockpit to commence takeoff, Revan nodded a greeting to Canderous and headed for the pantry in silence, not even bothering to remove his footwear, as he usually did. He didn't much feel like talking - there was a lot on his mind. Zaalbar howled softly to Canderous.

_[Why is he so quiet?]_

Canderous produced an oily rag and a tin of polish from one of his numerous pockets. "...kriffing in a world of his own," he replied. "He probably saw some crazy shit out there."

Crazy **shit** indeed, thought Revan as he approached the pantry. You have **no** idea! Torture routinely dished out as 'punishment' and 'discipline' for the smallest infractions, students encouraged to bully and demean their fellows, academic staff and senior hopefuls indulging their baser natures in ways too horrible to describe... instructors _murdering_ students... students amusing themselves with inflicting suffering on others - the list of abuses went on and on.

The pantry was deserted and mercifully quiet. Revan slid to the floor and sat with his head on his knees as soon as the door slid shut, thankful for a quiet place in which to reflect. What a legacy Darth Revan had bequeathed to the galaxy! Was it not enough that he should have unleashed the bane of the Star Forge, that he should also have founded a _training ground_ devoted to the propagation of the dark ways of the Sith? An _Academy_...! Brainwashing captive children - Force... did I write the curriculum here as well or are the maniacs back there making it all up as they go?

The pantry door slid open noiselessly, admitting an old, bearded man. "Credit for your thoughts?"

Revan looked up. "Hey."

"Hey." Jolee squatted in front of Revan, his knees clicking as he did so. The old Jedi winced and moved to sit on the bench. "Looks like someone could use a listenin' ear."

"I... don't know where to start."

Jolee stroked his beard and put on his most avuncular voice. "Mmm. Why don't you start with the thing that's buggin' you the most, and then we'll take it from there, eh?"

Might as well, thought Revan as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "There's just _so much_. Out there." He gestured ambiguously with a hand. "That I've done... as Darth Revan - which I don't remember. And now I don't know if I **want** to remember, which probably is not the right thing to say, because I really _do_ want to put things right, as far as I can... because that would be the right thing to do - I, I owe the galaxy as much... you know?"

"Go on."

"...I mean, if, if I can't remember, how would I know what to put right, where do I start? And, the fact is - part of me wants to remember... so that I would know what to do - but there's an _equally large_ part of me that _doesn't_ want to... because I - well - I'm _afraid_ to remember, I guess. Because I must have been incredibly... incredibly..."

"Immoral?"

"...immoral, amoral - call it what you will: _bottom line_ is that I was a monster, Jolee - a_ monster_ - and that's not me **now**... I can't even start to imagine me doing the things Darth Revan did, much less _want_ to do them... I don't know if I can handle remembering, is what I'm saying."

"Mmm." Jolee stroked his beard thoughtfully. "What you're saying is that you've seen the Korriban lot, what they're doing - and you feel responsible for that." Revan nodded. "And you're wondering what else is going down with the Sith in general - whether they've any other... academies?" Revan nodded again. Jolee cleared his throat and continued. "Knowing that you're responsible somehow for the Sith today, and that you once were capable of doing the things these Sith are doing - that's causing you grief. Especially because you want to straighten things out as best you can, since you feel you owe common decency as much. That it?"

"Yeah."

Jolee scratched at the stubble on his throat. "Anything else?"

"Bastila. It's been a **week**, Jolee." Sighing heavily, Revan pinched his forehead as he tried to express himself. "You know she sacrificed herself for me - for all of us here - so that we could get off the Leviathan. I... feel so guilty for having left her behind! Even though I know very well that that is what she wanted. What I'm trying to say is... Malak has her, and I _know _he'll try to turn her - and... it's not difficult to imagine -" He broke off abruptly.

A deep sympathy washed over Jolee. The old Jedi leant forwards and patted Revan reassuringly on the shoulder. "I **know** - and I **understand**, son. You don't have to say it." Time to take this conversation to a different level, thought Jolee. Slowly easing himself off the bench, the old Jedi settled himself on the floor directly across from Revan and nudged the young man with a foot.

"Son, this here's going to be one of those lessons _everyone_ gotta learn in life at some point. And the sooner you do, the better." Revan raised his head off his arms briefly and gave Jolee an inquiring look. The old man might be strange and given to abstract, cryptic utterances, but there were usually nuggets of wisdom to be found buried beneath the seemingly random talk. The old Jedi cleared his throat and began.

"Ever spill milk on the floor? Of _course_ you have. And then what do you do? Cry? Scream? Sure, if you're about _five_ and don't know any better. But if you do, you find yourself a rag and you start moppin' up. Do you then squeeze the stuff in the rag back into your cup? **No**. You rinse out the rag, and maybe go over the floor again. Even then, the floor's never going to be just like how it was before you spilled milk on it, even if you do a darn good job of cleaning up. Fact! And sometimes, while you're cleaning up the mess you made, there's bits of it that you miss - because you didn't spot them. Does it make sense for you to stand there with a rag, worryin' about whether you've got to _every single drop of milk_? No. You just do what you must, for what you can - and you move on. Now you're thinking - but what about the bits of milk on the floor that I didn't do? What about the residue? Huh? Well, old Jolee's gonna tell you somethin' might make your hair fall out. _It don't matter_. That's right! You don't see it, but eventually, it'll all disappear. Some critter is going to find what you missed, and take care of it for you. Or maybe the drops just dry out on their own and crumble to dust."

Revan straightened and scratched behind an ear. He was fairly certain that Jolee had just been Very Wise, and that he'd been given an answer of some sort - but as always, he'd have to think it out himself. Noticing that Jolee was regarding him expectantly, Revan nodded for the old man to continue.

"Next thing you need to learn: things _happen_. I don't believe for a second that _everything_ that happens is the Will of the Force - Sith happens, slaving happens, _lots_ of terrible things happen - but does the Force want it that way? _I don't think so_. People have choice. Remember what I said about choice? Well, there you go. Sure, the Force has a purpose and some call it an ultimate goal - but it's people... beings, like you and I... who affect things **directly**. Mistakes get made. Bad things **do** happen. Why? Hmph. Hard to say. Maybe because the Force allows it. Maybe it has something to teach. _Maybe because the time wasn't right_. Whatever it is, the Force has a way of turning things around, _eventually_ - and it's not for you, or for _anyone_, to worry about how the Force is going to do its job. You got that? Just do what you know is needed, what's right - and leave the rest. What I'm saying is, the ways of the Living Force are beyond our understanding... But fear not. You are in the hands of something much greater and much better than you can imagine."

Jolee stretched and stood to leave, grunting with the effort. His knees creaked audibly as he got to his feet. "Gettin' older all the damn time..."

Massaging his back with a fist, the old man ambled out of the pantry, leaving Revan to mull things over.

* * *

"My Lord...?" The Dark Jedi Master knelt before Darth Malak, his heart in his mouth. Darth Malak hated hearing bad news - and the news he had to bring was guaranteed to put the Dark Lord into an even fouler mood than usual.

"Speak."

"News from Korriban, my Lord."

Holding his hand out of the window he was standing next to, Darth Malak tilted his palm slightly. A shower of brittle, dull yellow flakes poured from it, blowing away in the wind - the remnants of his new Apprentice's former life. He addressed the kneeling figure in an unreadable tone.

"What of it?"

The Dark Jedi Master bowed a little lower. "We suspect that there... has been... an _incident_ at the Academy, my Lord." The Dark Jedi ventured to glance up. No response, no warning in the Force - he thought it best to continue. "Our hails to Korriban have gone unanswered for the past two days. This is most unusual."

"You suspect an infiltration?" intoned the Dark Lord of the Sith. "Deal with it."

Shifting uneasily on his knees, the Dark Jedi Master tried to articulate the message he had to relay. "My Lord, there - there is something else. The _Ebon Hawk_ is recorded to have left Dreshdae shortly before all communications were lost." Beneath his mask, the Dark Jedi Master gritted his teeth, anticipating the worst.

Darth Malak hissed. "The _Ebon Hawk_. **Revan**!" A large chunk of masonry detached itself from the cornice above, and hung suspended in the air for a moment before shattering and sending debris flying in all directions. The Dark Jedi Master bowed even lower, nearly prostrating himself - out of fear of the Dark Lord, and to avoid being hit by the shrapnel.

"My Lord, if Revan was on Korriban, then he may have found the St-" the Dark Jedi suddenly started choking. Gasping desperately for breath, he clawed at his throat, his eyes wild with fear. Darth Malak's voice rang above the pounding of blood in his head -

"**Fool**! Of _course_ Revan has found the Star Map. He will follow the trail here." With a wheeze, the Dark Jedi collapsed to the floor, coughing as he inhaled dust with each thirsty gulp of air.

The Dark Lord of the Sith strode towards the exit, his cloak billowing behind him as he went. "I will return to the Star Forge. You will remain here, with the other Masters and the Acolytes. And as for my Apprentice..." Smiling evilly under his metal jaw, Darth Malak paused at the doorway, relishing the moment.

"...I am sure Revan will find their reunion most... _unexpected_."

* * *

HK-47 clicked disapprovingly as his photoreceptors registered their new surroundings. Sand! _More_ sand! And salty water! He protested. "Exclamation: Master...! How you _abuse_ me...! You deny me the pleasure of exterminating troublesome meatbags at my discretion. You _forbid_ me from enforcing discipline and harmony amongst your collection of maladjusted misfit meatbag friends! And now you torment my servos with the presence of sand and water! Oh, Master, what are you trying to achieve?"

"Zaalbar! Arc wrench!" Carth poked his head out from where he was lying, crammed into a small space in the Ebon Hawk's undercarriage. A pair of bright blue lekku dangled from the open undercarriage hatch, and twitched irritably.

"And a cleaning rag, damn it!" added Mission, wiping her nose with a greasy hand. "The fans on this side of the engine are, like, _totally_ filthy," she informed Carth. "I think they, like, kinda sucked in an avian, or something - while we were on our way down." The Twi'lek girl fished out an unidentifiable, bloody mess from one of the fans and dropped it to the ground, narrowly missing Zaalbar.

"...thanks, Big Z."

Carth wriggled in the narrow crawl space as he examined the Ebon Hawk's engineering carefully. Engines looked fine, though the wires in a few places could use some re-soldering... no signs of overheating... fuel lines holding up good...

"Oi! Bucket-head! What's it look like on your end?"

Canderous swore loudly as he scratched the back of his hand on a piece of twisted metal. "A couple of bad scratches, some large dents - easily fixed. Main problem is that the hyperdrive's _karked_."

Juhani threw her hands up in the air and said something in Catharese which nobody except HK-47 understood.

"Translation: I believe the Cathar meatbag just insulted the lineage of Darth Malak, Master. She referred to the mating preference of his mothe-"

"-that's all right, HK. I believe we're all a little short-fused today, no pun intended," said Revan quickly as he helped Mission down from the undercarriage. "Finding a new hyperdrive here is going to be tricky."

"Actually, maybe not," said Carth as he extricated himself. "On our way down, I couldn't help noticing that this planet - at least the bit of it we've landed on - is littered with ships. Some of them look like Republic cruisers... you know, left over from... the war. Anyway - with the sheer number of ships this planet attracts, I'd say odds are pretty good that at least one of the wrecks is going to have a viable hyperdrive -"

"We don't actually need an _entire_ kriffing hyperdrive," corrected Canderous as he emerged from the top hatch of the _Ebon Hawk_. "What you want to look for is just the kriffin' _fusion generator_. You find me one, we're good to go."

Revan stretched and tugged at the neck of his tunic. This is one hell of a humid place! I think there are little biting bugs in the sand, too. He stamped his feet to shake off the itching that had started to work its way up to his ankle. It wasn't any good. "C'mon, old man. We got scrap to find." Turning, Revan started trudging up the beachfront towards a large knoll.

"I ain't goin' anywhere," Jolee called out. "_Twenty years_ I been in the Shadowlands - and they don't call them the 'Shadowlands' for nothing, son! This old Jedi's gettin' some sun by the sea..."

"Irritated remark: Master, allow me. The old meatbag is _clearly_ past his prime. If you order it, I will initiate termination protocols so that our resources are not wast-"

Revan balked. "**No**, HK! Look - I ah, I... think there are things on this planet which you would like to meet. _Yes_. You come along with me!" When all this is done, I'm going to have to find a _protocol pacifist package_ and upload it into that _psychotic_ droid, Revan told himself.

Canderous jogged up the beach to meet Revan. "Count me in. This place looked like a jungle from the air. You'll need someone who's familiar with jungle terrain." He thumped his chest. "That'd be me."

Wonderful, just wonderful! thought Revan. A _sociopathic droid_ and a _trigger-happy Mandalorian_ for company. What's next - **rancors**? Bloodthirsty, half-civilised natives? _Cannibals_?

He soon regretted those ideas.

* * *

Bastila watched as her Master's personal shuttle lifted off, receding until its lights were nothing more than a faint speck in the sky. The Dark Jedi forming the send-off party murmured amongst themselves, gathering into little knots of two or three persons as they descended to the large complex below. Only one shuttle craft remained on the plaza, a single-seater. That had been left for her use. Bastila wasn't sure she knew exactly what was going on, but thought that Malak probably intended for her to oversee operations in the sprawling complex in his absence.

How was she to do that, though? She didn't even know what this place was about - or who all these Dark Jedi were. She presumed that training of some sort happened within the complex - during her walks around, she had heard the sound of lightsabers clashing, as if their wielders were running through katas. And there were all these little locked rooms, which she'd seen people going in and out of. Meditation rooms? Or just bedrooms? She hadn't really investigated. Should she? After all, being the Dark Lord's apprentice placed her at the top of the pecking order, right? ...only Bastila wasn't too sure how to go about enforcing her pecking rights. Whatever those might be.

Damn the Jedi Masters, she thought. Here, I have more responsibility and trust than they _ever_ saw fit to give me. She strolled from one end of the plaza to another, and back again. The setting sun was still warm - a little too much so for her taste - so Bastila went and sat down by a ventilation port. An evening breeze wafted over the plains and tickled her nose.

Leaning back against the masonry, Bastila allowed her mind to wander. If this is what it means to fall, then the Masters have got it all wrong. I don't feel bad. I don't feel like I'm a different person. Only... freer, less restrained. Like I don't have to keep watching my step all the way... being careful about the things I do or say, how I act... absolute, _total_ freedom! How could I ever have been so stupid and narrow? Right, wrong, up, down... all that is just so much _theory_ and posturing, _narrow_ categories for narrow _minds_. Ha! And the Jedi call it 'wisdom'!

Bastila smiled lazily to herself in her contemplations. And my abilities with the Force have returned, too. Casually raising a small rock with the Force, she floated it a short distance away from its original position before sending it flying over the edge of the low wall enclosing the plaza. A dull cry sounded from the level below. Oops! Someone had been hit. Too bad, thought Bastila, giggling to herself. Serves **them** right for not being alert! What good is the Force to a person if they don't use it?

Closing her eyes, Bastila drew on the Force and touched the bond she shared with Revan for the first time in what seemed like ages. Revan, what a **nerf** you are...! All that power was yours! You were once free from the chains of the Jedi Council, and yet you chose to come crawling back. And look what it did to me - I denied myself, my feelings for you, I tried to push you away time and time again... because that is what I had been taught to do. I see it all now, Revan. The Masters were wrong in this - as well as practically _everything_ else they teach. _Come to me, Revan_. I need not deny myself any longer. Do you desire me, Revan?

_I will not deny you_...

* * *

Juhani jumped as Revan sat bolt upright at the pantry table, knocking his tray over. "**What**? What happened? Revan!"

Mission complained as she dealt with the mess. "Food stays on _plates_, dude. Like, I shouldn't even be having to _say_ this to you!"

Revan blinked slowly. "I - I - no, Bastila, she -"

"Miss Goody-two-shoes? Heh, you even think about her at _dinnertime_? Man, you're a **goner**," chirped Mission as she went over the floor a second time. "Are you two gonna get _married_ or something? When you find her, I mean. _Wow_! Are you, like, gonna kneel when you prop-"

"Mission, could I talk to you for a minute? _Outside_." Carth steered the Twi'lek teen out of the pantry with a stern expression.

Juhani pushed her tray aside and studied Revan intently. "What is the matter? Your bond - something it is you feel?" Revan's brow creased as he mouthed a 'yes'. "Something bad - she is in pain, she is hurt... what?"

"No. Not pain... not... anymore." Dazed, Revan moved away from the table and stood, resting his forehead against the wall. His mouth suddenly felt very dry. "She - oh, my goodness - I don't know, Juhani. I - she - "

The Cathar's eyes narrowed: this looked very serious. "Malak?" she prompted gently.

"Malak."

"Ah." The Cathar Jedi frowned. Very bad this is. Much afraid I am now to guess.

"Did he..."

"He's... I think he has managed to **turn** Bastila, Juhani."

Sorrow filled the Cathar. "Oh, dear..." Juhani left the table and tried to comfort her colleague. "I am _so sorry_ to know."

Revan's sense of guilt deepened considerably. What had he done...! In a way, he bore responsibility for Bastila's fall. The thought of all the other Jedi whom he had brought with him to the Dark Side as Darth Revan, Jedi he had been lately forced to kill, Jedi who had refused redemption - it pained him greatly, but was as _nothing_ compared to the crushing agony which he now felt. The Princess - swayed to the Dark by his former Apprentice - his former Apprentice...!

His heart was breaking, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.


	18. Chapter 18

Revan and Canderous exchanged glances as their Elder Rakata escort bowed and exited the waiting area adjacent to the Elder Council's meeting room. The severely-injured scout whom they had rescued had been whisked off immediately upon their return: now, the Elder Council wished to deliberate on Revan's request to enter their ancient monument.

Canderous whistled through his teeth and flopped down on a reclining chair. "_Mad_ buggers. Half of 'em want to kill _every_ kriffing thing they see. And the rest? Karked-up bunch o'karking _navel-gazers_. 'Find the Force' again?" Hawking up a generous gob of phlegm, the Mandalorian turned and expurgated into a nearby wicker basket. Revan rolled his eyes and tried not to think about the implications for community hygiene. Canderous continued his monologue.

"How'd they lose it anyway? Care to explain, Jedi? _You're_ the Force expert here." Leaning into the chair, the Mandalorian removed his shirt to enjoy the cool breeze that drifted though the room. Revan suddenly looked offended. Hadn't the man even _heard_ of deodorant? He tried to keep a straight face.

"I... don't really know, though I probably should - probably _did_, once." Revan tilted his head and frowned. "What I mean is - something that researcher said back there - about the Rakata suddenly finding themselves, ah, without the Force...? For some reason, that struck a chord. I'm not sure how to put it - but it _felt_, it sounded familiar. Like I'd heard it somewhere before. Or seen it. Something like that."

HK-47 whirred. "Interjection: Master, I do believe you came across a parallel situation during your **glorious** reign as Supreme Overlord of the Galaxy."

Surprised, Revan exclaimed, "I _did_? Where! When? What happened?"

"Explanation: Indeed you did, Master. If my memory cores serve me correctly, this occurred shortly after your inspiring victory at Malachor V. Oh, Master! It brings an electrical surge approximating euphoria to my emotional construct simulators just to speak of Malachor...! Quite sincerely, Master - I had always considered you to be the _finest_ example of meatbaggery: a meatbag cut above meatbags, if you will - but it was Malachor V which demonstrated your _considerable_ droid-like qualities beyond-"

"Get to the point, HK!" snapped Revan, his patience wearing thin. _Malachor_! Genocide! _Mass murder_! He wasn't proud of it in the least.

The assassin droid stopped mid-sentence, its processor lights dimming. "Disappointed compliance: As you wish, Master. Involved explanation: Many Jedi followed you to war, Master. Among them was one whose name I never learnt. A female Human meatbag. She was one of what many called your 'inner circle': trusted, responsible, dedicated to your cause..."

Canderous smirked. "...and good in bed..."

HK-47 focussed his photoreceptors on the reclining Mandalorian. "The Master did **not** engage in frivolities, meatbag. Unlike his best friend, who-"

Revan coughed, drawing the droid's attention to himself. "Come back to the point, HK. So... I had a, a... general?"

"Affirmative reply: Yes, Master! A most _excellent_ specimen of a general. You greatly respected her ability to lead, Master. I gather this is why you placed her in charge of the Mass Shadow Generator."

"The _what_?"

"The Mass Shadow Generator, Master. A technological terror constructed by the foremost engineer of the age - an Iridonian."

"What did it **do**?"

HK-47's processor lights brightened. "Elated exclamation: Why, it drew ships from orbit into a vast gravity vortex powerful enough to _crush_ them into the crust of Malachor, whilst fracturing the planet to its very _core_! You ordered it, Master!"

Revan groaned. Sick! Completely, unmitigatedly, _sick_! He felt like punching himself. "HK, how does _that_ relate to... to this general I had, and to the Force?"

"Continued explanation: You ordered her to activate the Mass Shadow Generator when the bulk of Mandalorian ships were within range, Master. She obeyed your order. Conjecture: Being a Jedi, and therefore connected to the 'Force', I believe she experienced the death agonies of the thousands who died at Malachor V vicariously."

"Did **I **experience it?"

"Clarification: You _sensed_ it, Master. _That_ was how you knew your orders had been obeyed. But you were not there in person. You were parsecs away with the remaining Republic ships, waiting to move in and mop up any Mandalorian survivors. When your general returned to report to you, she was utterly changed. Broken, I believe. Recollection: Master, I distinctly recall that you described her as one who was 'already dead'. Alek, your best friend, had wanted me to kill her, but you allowed her to leave unharmed."

His knees suddenly feeling weak, Revan slumped into a nearby chair. _By the Force_...! He had willingly exposed a loyal follower, a fellow Jedi, to the _unimaginable_ horror of tasting the death of unnumbered thousands - witnessing death was always unpleasant for a Jedi, given their Force-Sensitivity: but to stand exposed to so many...! It was too ghastly to contemplate.

Struggling to find his voice, Revan stammered, "...the. The... general. She. A... Jedi. She... no longer, felt... the, the Force?"

"Affirmative: I believe you thought so, Master. I do not know the reason why. You did not speculate upon it in my presence, Master."

Numb and reeling from the shock of HK-47's revelation, Revan stared unseeingly ahead.

Canderous scratched the thick stubble running from his jaw to his chest. He was about to ask for more information from the droid, but was prevented from so doing by the re-entrance of the Elder Rakata who had requested that their party await the decision of the Elder Council.

It was a very dazed and shell-shocked Revan that found himself standing before the Elder Council a few minutes later. There was a lot of talk, much of it irrelevant. He dimly registered that the Elder Council had decided to approve his entrance into the ancient complex, and that certain complicated rites had to be performed - whether as a matter of tradition or superstition or actual necessity, he neither knew nor cared - also that these rites would require extensive preparation, and that he himself would need to be prepared...

"Finally," intoned the Head of the Elder Council, "you may enter the Temple of the Ancients on one condition: _you must enter it alone_. This is our tradition, and we broke it only once - for you, and your friend. The grief that doing so brought to the galaxy needs no further mention. We will **not** break with our tradition again." The Head of the Elder Council spoke authoritatively, and with a tone of decided finality.

Revan nodded his head meekly in acceptance. He didn't much feel like debating the point.

* * *

Late that night, Jolee Bindo shuffled down the corridor leading to the 'fresher. Trust the women to have picked the cabin _closest_ to the amenities! Primping and pouting! _That_ was what females across the galaxy thought 'freshers were created for. _Typical_ women, thought Jolee grumpily as he scratched himself. _Pissing_ and _pooping_ - now **that** was what 'freshers were meant for. None of this namby-pamby puckering up in front of mirrors and suchlike...!

The old Jedi eased himself and began shuffling slowly back to the comfort of his bunk. As he passed the cargo hold, a dull sound coming from within caught his attention. Jolee thought he'd investigate. Making his way quietly across the floor of the cargo hold, he noted the telltale line of light coming from the pantry.

Revan put down his mug of tea and looked up as Jolee ambled in.

"Ain't it way past your bedtime, son?" Jolee's voice was gruff, but his tone was kind. The old man sat down on the bench opposite Revan and gestured at the mug. "You going to pour me one, or have I got to do it myself?" Revan smiled lopsidedly and obliged the old Jedi.

"_Much_ better." Jolee glowed with approval at the steaming mug of tea Revan had placed before him. "Now. Start talkin', son."

Revan leant back against the wall and contemplated the ceiling. "I know - I've got to forgive myself, let the guilt go - and I _will_... eventually. But you know what? I don't think I will ever allow myself to forget. I made a terrible mistake once, Jolee. I can't afford to do so again. Sure, I'm not about to punish myself for it - but that doesn't mean I shouldn't take lessons from my own history, you know?"

The old Jedi nodded as he sipped his tea. "That's the attitude, son. Keep going."

"HK said that Alek and I were friends, once. Specifically, best friends. Of course, I don't remember **any** of it. But it's got me thinking. If we were best mates, once - then Alek and I must have been pretty damn close. We'd have known each other really well. And he must have _really_ believed in me - otherwise, he wouldn't have just followed me to war, right? And, obviously, something went wrong somewhere. Maybe when we - when I - started to fall to the Dark Side. Maybe the war had changed us both more than we knew, or wanted to admit. Whatever it is, _Alek changed_. He became Darth Malak, who hated Darth Revan enough to want to try and kill him when he got a chance. I escaped, Jolee - but that doesn't mean Darth Malak doesn't **still** hate me... and now he has Bastila." Revan leant forward, urgency in his voice.

"...I'm sure Malak is no fool, Jolee. And I'm sure he's discovered by now that I... I _love_ the Princess. And I'm _convinced_ he's going to try to use her either to break me, or to destroy me... to _get_ to me, somehow - it doesn't matter _how_, or what buttons he pushes, as long as it affects **me**. _Personally_."

"That is very true, son," said Jolee. "So how can I help?"

Revan fingered the handle of his mug thoughtfully. "...I'd like to know more... about... about Alek. Not 'Malak': _Alek_. What he was as a person. What he was **like**. How he behaved, the things he did, what he was known for. His likes and dislikes. What we were like... as friends. _Anything_ that gives me some idea of the kind of person he was. You know, I keep thinking - going Dark isn't a lobotomy or personality transplant, right? As in, you don't suddenly wake up and find yourself brand spanking new, right? Sure, some things change - radically - but... there's got to be some foundation... some shadow, some _base_ - that's related to the person you once _were_?"

Jolee's forehead creased. "You want to learn about Alek so that you can dissect his mind, don't you? Hmph! I know what you're planning. Good call."

"Don't worry if you can't fill me in as much as I'd like, Jolee. I mean, twenty years in the Shadowlands-"

The old Jedi snorted with laughter. "Living in the Shadowlands didn't put me out of the loop, son! I had visitors, occasionally. Wookiees mayn't look like they do much talking, but trust me - you want a right old chin-wag, start talkin' to the Wookiee nearest you. I'm _serious_! Look - Wookiees are everywhere in this damn galaxy, right? They _see_ things. They **hear** things. Just because they talk funny don't mean they don't hear nothin'. Even old Freyyr was known to pass along stuff he'd heard from his odd trip off-planet." Jolee pushed his mug over to Revan for a refill.

Having refilled both mugs, Revan sat down again. "Fantastic! Fire away, Jolee."

Jolee inhaled the warm vapour curling up from his mug and sighed in satisfaction.

"Alek _was_ your best friend, Revan. You were _inseparable_. However, _you_ were definitely the brain. Alek may not have been quite in the same league as you, Revan - but he _wasn't_ stupid. You were the sort of student who soaked up knowledge like a sponge. When you became one of the youngest Jedi to attain the level of Knight, word spread like wildfire. Alek must have aspired to do likewise - but it was not his gift. He could, however, best you in any test of physical endurance or stamina. He was also a daredevil. Reckless, almost."

"I think he _still_ is," observed Revan.

"From all that I've heard, I reckon that Alek always took things too personally for his own good. Hurts, insults, affronts, disappointment, joy, praise, congratulations - he took these things **very** seriously. You were always much better at moving on than he _ever_ was. That, I think, ultimately proved to be the thin end of the wedge - _especially_ when you two got involved in the Mandalorian Wars." Moistening his throat with a generous gulp of tea, Jolee wiped his mouth on the back of a hand and continued speaking.

"Do you have _any_ idea how _popular_ you were, Revan? Not just with Jedi. With _people_. You had... a certain... magnetism. People actually travelled _across_ the galaxy to join you, or so I was told. They say that as a leader, you were inspiration itself: you were passionate about your mission, you were convincing - people just _followed_ you. Hundreds. _Thousands_! Alek was the first of the Jedi to break with the taboo set by the Council, and join your cause. I hear that he made the rounds on your behalf, too - rallies, speeches... people listened and agreed, but they only _committed_ themselves when you put in a personal appearance. This happened time and time again. And, the _girls_...! Hoo boy! Groupies...! Heh, I heard you even had 'offers' from silly beings - _mostly_ of the female persuasion. Don't know if you took up the offers, though... heh, I can't help thinkin' that Alek eventually got jealous..."

"HK said I never... indulged. But was Alek jealous because I was _popular_?"

The old Jedi shrugged. "Possibly. There was talk, startin' before the... ah, final events at Malachor V, that things _weren't_ runnin' as smooth between you and Alek as they once had. Arguments, shouting matches. Things like that. All _rumours_, of course. Nobody knew if they were factual, or if it was just some Mandalorian spin-doctoring bunk. But definitely after Malachor V - _definitely_."

Revan sipped his drink. "What happened?"

Jolee snorted. "Had a _mother_ of a fight, I should think! Mind, this was... sometime after Malachor V. Both of you'd disappeared into... Force knows where. And then you came back, Sithy as all heck - and Alek - or Malak, as he called himself now - was missing a jaw."

"_I_ cut off his **jaw**?"

"Don't know. Ask HK! The droid probably knows. But it was clear to everyone then that Jedi Revan and Alek hadn't just gone 'Darth': the friendship they once had was _kaput_, to say the least. I think you tolerated him, and he seethed at having to be your subordinate. Figures, huh?" Jolee finished his drink and stood to leave.

"Gotta use the darn 'fresher again," he complained, shutting the pantry door.

* * *

Revan winced, shading his eyes from the brightness of the mid-morning sun. The grey stone walls of the ancient monument were flecked in places with white, which reflected brilliantly - and painfully - into the eyes of anyone following the architecture of the building up from its broad, stepped base to the fins that crowned the top of the structure. A short distance from him, a handful of Elder Rakata priests were chanting in a monotone. Wanting to distance himself from the endless repetition of words he didn't understand, Revan broke away from the knot of priests and strolled about the lawn fronting the ancient monument. He was scuffing at a tuft of grass with a foot when he thought he heard someone running towards him.

"Juhani? Jolee...! What's the matter? I told you, I _have_ to do this alone -"

"No, you must _not_!" panted Jolee, shaking his head vigourously. "I - I..." the old man paused to catch his breath.

The Cathar filled in for her colleague, urgency behind every word. "We have had... a _vision_, Jolee and I. It is the _same vision_. _It is the Force_. You _must not_ go alone, Revan!"

Behind him, one of the priests noticed the presence of Jolee and Juhani and motioned for the ritual to stop.

"Why have you brought others, Revan? The Council has made its position clear. You can only enter _alone_," said the priest.

"There is great danger in the Temple - he _cannot _go in alone...!" exclaimed Jolee. "Tell them - Juhani. The vision -"

"Jolee and I have had a vision, from the Force," explained Juhani. "We have seen... danger. _Great _is the danger there is waiting in the Temple. Not to enter alone, Revan is."

The priest shook his head firmly. "No. He goes in alone, or not at all. We will not compromise." The other priests got to their feet, murmuring amongst themselves.

Revan looked from the gaggle of priests to the earnest, worried faces of Jolee and Juhani, and back again. The Elder Rakata had 'lost' the Force - it would be _impossible_ to explain to them just what it meant when two Jedi shared a Force vision, or to impress them with the sense of urgency that warning visions of the sort which Jolee and Juhani had obviously just experienced, gave.

I have to get to the Star Forge, and the only way off-planet now is for that disruptor field to be taken offline, thought Revan. If these guys here pack up and go, the deal's off entirely - and there's no way we're going to be able to get off-planet, much less find the Star Forge... and Malak!

Turning to the priests, Revan raised a hand in a conciliatory gesture. "There is _great danger_ in the Temple," he stated, waving his hand as if making a point. "You _do not_ want the danger to find you."

A glazed look came over the eyes of all the priests. "We do not want the danger in the Temple to find us," they repeated.

"You _believe _it in the best interests of your clan to let _my friends and I_ into the Temple," said Revan, waving his hand again.

"We believe it is in the best interests of our clan for you and your friends to enter the Temple together," chorused the priests.

Waving his hand a third time, Revan told the priests, "You _want_ to start performing the ritual _really quickly_ now."

The effect was instantaneous: barely had Revan let his hand fall than the Elder Rakata priests had reformed their circle and were chanting for all their lives were worth.

* * *

Bastila kicked a piece of loose masonry around the perimeter of the summit plaza irritably. _Curse_ those Dark Jedi! They had locked her up here. _On purpose_! She was **sure** of it - what _disrespect_! Surely they knew that she was the official Apprentice, that she_ alone_ amongst them had right of audience with the Dark Lord - oh, just wait...! _Soon_, she would rejoin her Master, and then she would _tell_ on them, the whole stinking _lot_ of them...! Locking the door back into the lower levels of the complex from the inside - how _dare_ they...! Bastila seethed with rage and affronted pride. The sun had reached its zenith in the sky, and it was starting to get unreasonably warm.

Retiring to the shade provided by the shadow of the shuttle, Bastila sat on the ground and pondered her next move. _Go to find her Master_? But he had ordered her to stay put, and to do what she "had to do". What did he mean by _that_? And how _exactly_ was she supposed to do what she "had to do" if these _impertinent _upstarts had locked her out of the complex altogether - oh, so **that** was their game, was it not? _Sabotage_! They were jealous of her, _jealous _of her position and her _superior _rank!

Obviously there was knavery afoot: one, or more of the higher-ranking Dark Jedi must have decided that her late promotion from pitiful _Jedi Padawan_ to Sith **Apprentice** was undeserved, and coveted it for themselves... evidently, they planned to weaken her by means of starvation at the top of the complex, before making an attempt on her life - or they intended for her to return to her Master in disgrace, her duty unfulfilled.

Bastila fumed. What a fine pickle she was in!

As she sat in the shade of her craft, trying to think of a suitable excuse to present to her Master, the heavy door blocking her descent back into the complex began to open. The ancient stone hinges grated audibly. Upon hearing them, Bastila got to her feet and stared ahead, trying to make out who - or _what_, if anything - was coming through the portal.

The sharp eyes of the Cathar Jedi spotted Bastila first. Caught up in the excitement of having discovered her lost friend still alive and seemingly unharmed, Juhani forgot Revan's misgivings entirely and sprinted ahead to meet the dark-robed figure which was moving towards them at a leisurely pace.

"Bastila!" cried Juhani joyfully. "So glad we are to find you..." Her voice trailed off uncertainly as two blades of red light unsheathed themselves from a cylindrical object held by the approaching figure. Juhani gasped and jumped backwards into Jolee and Revan. The latter stared, rooted to the spot as the trim figure of Bastila, now clad in unfamiliar dark garments, approached.

"Revan," he heard her say. "I _knew_ you'd come for me."

Revan's mind rebelled against what his ears were telling it. No! Surely _that_ could not be _Bastila_? But it **was**! The voice - so familiar, yet so _different_. There was a sultriness in her voice which, under different circumstances, he would have been more than happy to hear. _But not now_! And she looked - the same, but different. The set of her jaw - still the stubborn Princess, but her smile...? Cold, calculating, _catty_. Something twisted painfully inside of Revan as he looked into the eyes of the woman he adored, and saw that their smoky grey was stained with streaks of yellow. He barely recognised his own voice when he spoke.

"Princess...? You -"

Bastila smiled, amused. Silly Revan! Such a **nerf**! Deactivating her lightsaber, she tilted her head coyly and beckoned invitingly. "My _dear_ Revan. _How_ I've missed you...! Come with me, darling. I have seen what you saw, and tasted what you did - and I understand now."

The painful, twisting sensation inside of him sharpened. Revan shut his eyes and breathed deeply, seeking to assuage the pain. His heart was literally pounding in his ears. The inkling he had felt across their bond - he was right! Bastila had indeed fallen! The pain that stabbed through his heart was agony itself. Knowing - seeing, hearing! - Bastila in the flesh before him, changed from the being of integrity she once had been, what love they may have once shared _warped _into a macabre satire of itself; Bastila - decorous, dignified Bastila! - now a _vampish_ temptress...

Revan staggered beneath the emotional weight.

Jolee's arms were about his shoulders now, supporting him. "Steady, son," whispered the old Jedi, his eyes filled with pain. He understood Revan's agony all too well, having walked a similar - though not identical - path before. Once, long ago, Jolee Bindo had loved, and lost. Once, he had come face to face with the love of his life, and seen how the Dark Side could take even the brightest, purest thing - and corrupt it into a _mockery_ of the genuine. Once, he had been forced to decide between offering his love another chance at redemption... and cutting off the canker where it grew. The same awful decision now confronted the young Jedi whom Jolee had come to care for, almost as a son. Tears sprang unbidden to the old man's eyes as he heard Revan's pained appeal.

"**No**...! Oh, my _goodness_ - no...! By the _Force_, what have they done - what has Malak _done_ to you? You _don't have to do this_, Princess... this isn't... this isn't _you_, I know it isn't you...! Come away with me, Princess. Leave all this behind - don't make the mistakes **I** did-"

"Nobody '_does_' anything to me, Revan!" hissed Bastila, her porcelain features contorting into a snarl. "_Nobody_ 'does' anything to me! I am not the weak, ineffectual _Padawan_ I once was! The Order has nothing to offer me - _nothing_! The Order **took** from me, Revan. It took _my_ gift, _my_ Battle Meditation, and worked them to serve its own purposes. What did **I** ever get out of it? Nothing. It took me from the only family I had - my _father_! What did it give me in return? _Nothing_! It took my sympathy for you, my act of mercy in preserving _your_ life, and it made me your **jailer**. Your warden! A _pawn_, complicit in the machinations of the Masters!"

Revan shook his head in disbelief. What was she saying! Malak must have _brainwashed _her - what kind of inhumane torture had she been exposed to? _Surely_ it must have been inhumane, to break a spirit like Bastila's -

Bastila continued speaking, unconscious that her tone had softened, with a tinge of her former gentleness creeping back into it.

"...the Order nearly took **us** away from _each other_, Revan. I began to love you, and that _frightened _me - because I had been taught that emotions were dangerous! Now, I need not deny them any longer... look at me, Revan. _Do you still love me_? Come with me. We can be _so much more together_, you and I. So much more than... Malak. Am I not the object of your desire? Come away with me, Revan. Malak's affinity with the Force and his potential are _nothing_ compared to yours - come with me, fulfil your destiny, my dear!"

Sensing the turmoil and conflict that presently raged within the former Dark Lord, Bastila pressed her advantage. "Reclaim your rightful position as Dark Lord of the Sith, Revan...! I will _gladly_ stand by your side - as your _lover_... and apprentice."

_Lover_? **Apprentice**? Suddenly coming to her senses, Juhani Force-pushed Bastila away from Revan. Caught unawares, Bastila fell to the ground but recovered herself in an instant. Snarling, she leapt at Juhani with a cry. Before Revan could intervene, both Juhani and Jolee were embroiled in a deadly battle with Bastila, who was clearly more than their match. Shouting at the combatants to desist, Revan activated both his lightsabers and leapt into the fray, working to put as much distance between Bastila on the one hand, and his colleagues on the other.

"_Fools_!" spat Bastila angrily as she picked herself up from the ground a second time. "Revan! Stop being silly. This is **no** time for games - and _shut up_, Jolee: you are _beneath_ my contempt - your cowardice is legendary! You tasted the power of the Dark Side when Nayama fell, yet you chose to turn your back on it...! Spare me your _mewling_, Juhani. If anything, you're far more _pathetic_ than Jolee. You actually walked a dark path, but you lacked the fortitude to stay on it!"

Bastila addressed Revan once more. "Come, Revan. You told me you love me. _Prove it_."

The tempting thoughts returned in full force. The same ones that had lurked in his mind in the tomb on Korriban: the very ones that had whispered, hinted, and beckoned with promises of power now spoke to him in the Princess' voice. Weigh the costs, Revan! _You love her_. Will you let her walk this path **alone**? You know what lies ahead of her in the darkness, Revan. _Can you let her face it on her own_? Surely she means _more_ to you than that, Revan. What if she fails to be redeemed? What, then? There will be no future for the both of you, together. _Not now, not for eternity_...

Eternity! Revan groaned: he felt as if someone had stuck a vibroblade into his heart and was presently twisting it mercilessly.

Jolee and Juhani watched their colleague as he grappled with the tide of emotion: hurt, fear, pain, worry... guilt... heartbreak. The great moment of decision had come: Revan's choice today would make or mar the future. The four of them stood on the plaza, the heat of the afternoon sun beating mercilessly down upon them as the unseen controversy raged.

It was a seeming eternity before Revan found his voice to speak.

"Bastila, _you're breaking my heart_...! I **do** love you - but you are now walking a path I _cannot_ follow. Turn from it, Bastila - I _beg_ of you!"

A sharp cry escaped Bastila's lips. Revan would not follow her? But she had been so sure, so very sure, that he would!

In her shock and disappointment, Bastila's thoughts became increasingly confused and incoherent. She wasn't sure what she was anymore: Bastila the Jedi, or Bastila the Sith Apprentice...? Could she just let it all go? Just like that? Maybe Revan was right - he understands... no. How _could_ he? This is all a ploy. The Order doesn't care for me, and neither does Revan! If he truly **did**, he would have thrown his lot in with me... Malak - he is supposed to stop Malak - what does that mean? ..._do I have to kill Revan_? I don't want to kill him! ...but I'm a Sith Apprentice now... and Revan's a Jedi -

It was all very discombobulating. Bastila's intense confusion and inner conflict worked itself up into a classic display of petulance: she stomped a foot angrily and shouted.

"'_Can't_' or '_won't_'? I thought you _loved_ me! I thought we had _something_! Stop being so bloody _noble_, Revan! Oh, I've had _enough_ of this...!" Before Revan could reply, Bastila fled to the waiting shuttle and boarded it.

Jolee and Juhani blinked and exchanged surprised looks as the shuttle's engines roared to life and the craft lifted off the plaza floor. A _tantrum_? A _Sith Apprentice_, throwing a _tantrum_? _Stomping a foot_? What was the galaxy coming to?

As the shuttle gained altitude, Revan staggered over to the now-exposed terminal and deactivated the generator, staring numbly as the craft carrying his beloved disappeared into the sky.

Jolee stroked his beard thoughtfully. The girl's behaviour was most telling. Perhaps, thought the old Jedi, she is not yet lost.

* * *

Mission, Carth, and Zaalbar met the returning party outside the _Ebon Hawk_ with news that the salvaged fusion generator had been successfully installed. Canderous and HK-47 waved at the three Jedi from the sand-free safety of the _Ebon Hawk_'s ramp.

Carth frowned. "Where's Bastila? I thought you said you sensed her nearby-" Jolee shook his head at the Republic officer, a finger on his lips. Carth's eyes widened and a worried look came across his face. "**That** bad, huh?" he whispered to Jolee, before ascending the ramp to have a quiet word with the Mandalorian.

"Greetings: Welcome back, Master! I trust you have had a most _wonderful_ excursion, Master - slaughtering the meatbags that doubtless infested the ruins you visi-"

Juhani pointed her lightsaber warningly at HK-47. "One more word, and to deactivate you permanently I shall," she threatened. Mission kicked some sand in the droid's direction.

"Means shut up, or get shut down," the Twi'lek teen chirped. "_Everyone_'s had a hard day, okay? And the **bugs** here? Are, like, totally _murder_, man. Eww! I mean, I found like, a _whole bunch_ of them in, like, the 'fresher? 'Cos some moron, like, _totally_ forgot to flush, and I know it's not Carth or Canderous, like, 'cos I've been checking on _them_ today, and Zaalbar's been going outside, which means, like, it's gotta be _one of you three_... and Juhani's like, reallly clean - **crazy** clean - and I don't think _Revan_ would -"

Jolee's eyebrows retreated into his inexistent hairline. "_Oooh_, dear - oh, my _head_...! Oh, I feel **dizzy** - it must be the vertigo - come here, kid, there's a good kid... oh, my _old_ bones...!" The old Jedi feigned grogginess and staggered about strategically, ensuring that he tripped over an invisible rock when he neared Mission. The Twi'lek teen yelped as she rushed to stop the old man from falling over.

"Man...! _What_ is it with you old people and falling over?" Mission continued to fuss and tut at Jolee as she helped him into the waiting ship.

Juhani clicked her teeth and made a wry face. She turned to address Revan - to ask if he wished to talk - and found that he had already disappeared. HK-47 pointed at the ship's interior and whirred. The Cathar Jedi nodded grimly.

"Inside? Where?" she asked the droid.

HK-47 fixed its photoreceptors on Juhani. Its processor lights blinked.

"The pantry again?" demanded the Cathar.

The droid's lights blinked again.

"The men's cabin?"

HK-47's lights blinked impassively.

_What the_ - Juhani's eyes narrowed. The blasted droid! It was _teasing_ her! She glared at HK-47 as she boarded the ship.

An electrical discharge approximating self-satisfaction built up in the droid's emotional construct simulator.

"Self-evaluation: HK-47 one, crazy Jedi meatbag zero."

* * *

Dinner was a very subdued affair. Jolee and Juhani had discreetly informed their comrades of their meeting with Bastila atop the ancient monument. The news had upset everyone - particularly Mission, who burst into tears and babbled incoherently about marriage, happily-ever-afters, school, family, siblings, flowers...

Juhani had been obliged to take the red-eyed teen back to the women's cabin where she could bawl her eyes out without upsetting Revan further. Jolee retired early, citing a bad back. Zaalbar excused himself early as well, stating that he thought it prudent to leave Lehon immediately: the planet had caused nothing but upset for all on board, and it would be for the best to leave the place as soon as possible. Nobody disagreed with him.

Carth and Canderous remained in the pantry with Revan after everyone else had left. The Mandalorian fidgeted uncomfortably. What was he supposed to **do**? He wasn't the talky-feely kind. Action! That was his thing. Only, something told him that the sort of 'action' he would find himself were he in a similar situation as the man currently seated across from him, would _not_ go down well with anyone at all. Kriff it, thought Canderous. Kriffing _woman_ problems! He nudged Carth with an elbow.

"Say _something_," hissed the Mandalorian under his breath.

The Republic officer darted a sharp look at Canderous out of the corner of his eye. "Wait!" he hissed back.

Canderous nudged Carth again. "We _can't_ sit here all evening staring at him!"

"Is there... anything we... can do for you?" probed Carth uncertainly. "We're _really_ sorry, Revan."

Revan sighed softly and pushed the uneaten food around his tray with a fork. "Haven't a clue, guys. I suspect this is something I... gotta figure out on my own."

A brief silence followed. Canderous thought he would go deaf from the quietude, and felt impelled to say something. Anything!

"Star Forge next, innit?"

"Yeah."

"So, ah... you reckon _she'll _be there?

Carth raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. The tactlessness! He stepped, none too gently, on the Mandalorian's foot. Canderous pretended not to notice.

"Definitely."

"What do you think she'll do?"

Revan looked up from pushing his leftovers around. "I really don't know, Canderous," he confessed. "She might try to kill me."

The Mandalorian made a low whistle. "Girl's got spirit," he commented. "A _pity _you didn't bed -"

"Do you really think so?" the Republic officer cut in hastily. "I mean, it's not _impossible_ - but the two of you... you know? _Really had something going_. It reminded me of... happier days."

"The Dark Side makes monsters of people, Carth," said Revan softly. "It made a monster out of **me**, once. I don't know how far Bastila has gone down that road. Maybe she doesn't even _remember_ what it is to love."

Carth's brow furrowed. "But what if she _does_, Revan? As in, she _does _still love you. And she's not forgotten it - just... well, _buried_ it, I suppose - and is pretending that it, ah, doesn't exist?" The Republic officer started to talk animatedly. "I mean, that would just be _typical_ of the Princess, wouldn't it? You know what I mean...! She's **always** been like that. Taris, for example - 'Oh, I'm so _relieved_ someone from the Republic finally _found_ me, but - **but** - actually, _I _rescued_ myself_! It wasn't **my** fault I got captured, the _stupid escape pod_ crashed! I'm a highly-trained **Jedi**, but I don't _know_ where my frackin' _lightsaber_ is...!'"

Revan couldn't help but laugh. "That's actually very true, Carth," he admitted. "She tries _so hard_ to be serious and unfunny... spotlessly professional - I think it'd kill her to know just how _cute_ and hilarious she actually is. You're right... she does keep a **lot **of stuff buried inside her."

"See? Maybe she _does_ know," continued Carth. "She could be trying to _pretend _that she doesn't. Grife...! You know what I think, bro? I think she's frackin' in _denial_, that's what I think. That, plus she's _conflicted_. What kind of crazy Master did she have?"

"There were rumours that Master Vrook Lamar was involved in her training at some point..."

Carth blinked. "_Vrook_? Would that be... ah, a bald chap with a _magnificent_ attitude problem?"

"That'd be him."

A mild Telosian expletive issued from the Republic officer's mouth. "No _wonder_ the Princess is all messed up - the man's **barking**!"

"How do **you** know? You weren't allowed in the Enclave on Dantooine-"

"Yeah, but Jedi are allowed _out_ of it - and Padawans **love** to gossip," smirked Carth. "The point is: as a Jedi, the Princess was one _confused _kitten. Who's to say that she isn't_ just as confused_ - if not **worse**! - now that she's being led down an unfamiliar path by _loopy _Mr Metal Jaw?"

Revan turned Carth's words over in his head, comparing them with what he had himself witnessed earlier in the day. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Carth wasn't engaging in blind speculation. When confronting Bastila earlier, he really hadn't had the time - or the heart - to engage in a dissection of her behaviour. But _now_ that Carth had brought up the subject, Revan found himself wondering at several strange things Bastila had said or done during their meeting.

She had been corrupted - to some extent - by the influence of the Dark Side. But she _hadn't _been like all those Dark Jedi he'd met during his travels across the galaxy. On the contrary, Bastila had wanted to **talk** - _not _fight! Juhani was the one who struck first, so to speak. And then everything had gone haywire from there. And then, when he turned her down, she _hadn't _flown off the handle or attempted to kill him outright - as he expected any half-baked Sith to do. No... Bastila had looked stunned, hurt, _dismayed_, even - and then, instead of Force-choking him or slicing him into two, she'd stamped her foot and yelled. _Yelled_!

And then, Bastila had run back to her shuttle in a state of pique and made her getaway - _entirely forgetting to deactivate the disruptor_.

A _tantrum_! That was more the province of a spoilt, disappointed princess than a proper _Sith Apprentice_, thought Revan. He tried to imagine Darth Malak 'throwing a wobbly' as Darth Revan's apprentice, and found it impossible.

"Sith Apprentice Fail," muttered Revan half-aloud. Carth and Canderous leant over the table.

"Say again?" grunted Canderous, as Revan keeled forwards. Carth yanked away the food tray to prevent Revan from upsetting it.

"Sith Apprentice Fail," said Revan again, sitting up. "Carth, you're a _star_." He stood and dusted some crumbs off his clothes and made for the door. "Is Jolee still awake?"

Carth frowned in confusion. "Jolee? He should be - hey! Where are you going?"

"Got an idea, going to run it by the old man. Thanks, Carth!" called Revan from the cargo hold.

"_Women_," said Canderous sagely, "are _trouble_."


	19. Chapter 19

"Master?"

Bastila cautiously approached the red-cloaked figure standing by the immense holomap.. She wasn't sure how Malak would take her sudden appearance. Would he expect a full report? A head-count of all the Masters and Acolytes present? Should she tell him about... about Revan? Hopefully, that would distract him from asking too many close questions for which she, as yet, had no answers. Malak was prowling around the holomap, seemingly absorbed with thoughts of his own.

The Dark Lord barely acknowledged the entrance of his Apprentice. The girl had returned sooner than he had expected. Either the clumsy, overly-trusting Elder Rakata had once again taken Revan into their confidence, or his old comrade had reached a sort of... reciprocal agreement with the more progressive half of Lehon society. He did not think it was the latter. Revan had changed _completely_ from what he had been as the Dark Lord of the Sith: no sooner could Darth Malak imagine the reformed Revan of recent memory actively abetting genocide than he could the Revanchist "disporting" himself whilst there remained yet one more battle to fight.

Darth Malak turned to face Bastila, his expression unreadable.

"My Apprentice."

The girl knelt on one knee before him, her head bowed in submission.

"I have returned, my Master."

"Indeed you have, my Apprentice," stated the Dark Lord. "And what news do you bring me?"

"The complex is... secure, my Master." Bastila held her breath, waiting for Malak's response.

The smallest glint of amusement flickered in the Dark Lord's eyes. "As well it _should_ be. I trust you were not unduly troubled?"

"No, my Master - there was _no_ trouble at all." The answer left her mouth faster than she had intended, and Bastila smacked herself mentally for having failed to maintain an even keel.

Darth Malak recommenced strolling around the holomap. "How many did you kill?"

**Kill**? Bastila looked up in alarm. Had she been expected to_ kill_ something... someone? Who? Why - whatever _for_?

"_Surely _you must have killed at least **one**, Apprentice? A Master... or an Acolyte, perhaps - according to your skill?"

The Dark Lord halted in his walk around the holomap, its glittering display of the space and ships surrounding the Star Forge obscuring his sneer completely. Yes, he was toying with the girl's mind. Already he had succeeded in causing her to stumble and fall from the path of the Jedi: already he had caused her to question and forsake her high ideals; already he had robbed her of her faith in the Light side of the Force - but those were in themselves _trifles_ as compared to what he now desired to achieve - the comprehensive_ annihilation_ of her capacity for love.

That, mused the Dark Lord, would be _sublime_ revenge upon Revan.

How he _hated_ the man! Revan, who always had everything Alek desired but _didn't_ have! Revan, the universally-adored! Revan, who had led him down this _dark_ and _dreary_ path to start with - and who had somehow found his way back to the Light! _Everything_ had always come so easily for Revan. Was that even **fair**? Darth Malak seethed with an overpowering, maddened jealousy.

He would corrupt the very _apple_ of Revan's eye into something that Revan could no longer love. He would force Revan to destroy her: and if _that_ failed to demolish the rebuilt Revan, Darth Malak would **still** have gained the victory over his bitterest foe.

This final, fatal purpose aside, Darth Malak had no further use for Bastila. Resuming his walk, the Dark Lord completed his circumnavigation of the holomap and stood in front of his kneeling Apprentice. "_Well_?" he demanded.

Bastila dithered. She did not know what to say! "...no. Did you wish someone killed, Master?"

"They locked you out, did they not?"

He knew! "Ye-es, my Master."

Darth Malak's words were crisp and cutting. "A _failure_! Like a _miserable_ pittin, you came crawling back instead of taking appropriate _action_! You **disappoint **me. I think I begin to... understand. Why the Order did _not_ come seeking you, when you were _lost_. On Taris... on the _Leviathan_... no wonder _even the Force_ deserted you, for a while. You **lack **fortitude."

_Fortitude_! **She** lacked _fortitude_? After _all_ that she had been through - the ambush of the _Endar Spire_, falling into the hands of those low-life gangsters, offered as a prize, made into a cat's paw for the Council, faring to and fro across the galaxy hunting for _scraps_ of information - being _hauled_ before the Selkath courts like a common _criminal_ - the hostility of the Wookiees on Kashyyyk, sacrificing herself on the _Leviathan_ so that her friends could make _their_ escape; knowing that her own capture and torture would be _inevitable_... and Malak accused **her** of lacking _fortitude_!

The Dark Lord's words kindled a burning rage within his Apprentice.

Some part of Bastila's mind shouted at her that this was a trap - that Malak _intended_ to provoke her, that he desired her to_ give in_ to the anger, resentment and hatred she harboured for him; and that she should step back and evaluate things dispassionately, objectively...

Whether by the dark and baleful influence of the Star Forge or the Dark Lord himself, or by the springing forth of the seeds of corruption lately sown in her, the roiling and tempestuous passions within Bastila manifested themselves in hasty words.

"Revan has visited the complex. He seeks to _destroy _the Star Forge, and he will be here shortly."

The Dark Lord smiled to himself beneath his heavy prosthetic jaw. Things were proceeding according to plan. He affected surprise. "Already?"

"**Yes**, Master. The Republic is certain to send fleets. There will be Jedi with them."

Darth Malak pretended to study the holomap with greater avidity than before. "Revan is... _formidable_, Bastila. We _must not_ underestimate him." Pausing for effect, Darth Malak turned again to face his Apprentice. "Perhaps you **may** yet redeem my faith in you..." An encounter between Bastila and his former friend would almost certainly prove fatal for the girl - but that was none of his concern. Whether she fell by Revan's hand or, through some miracle, survived, his purpose would have been amply fulfilled.

"What is your bidding, my Master?"

Bastila regretted her hasty words and anger as soon as she heard her Master's reply.

"Remain here, Apprentice, and assist us with your Battle Meditation. You will stop Revan should he attempt to pass this way. _Destroy him, and prove your worth_."

As her Master exited the chamber, Bastila bowed her head to the floor, disconsolate.

* * *

"How much do you remember about me, HK?"

The droid's processors whirred. "Statement: About _you_, Master? I believe I have already stated _much_ about your capacity for creative atrocities. Which joyful incident do you wish me to recount, Master?"

Revan shrugged and sat on the workbench stool. "Apart from my... ah, 'creative atrocities', you may commence anywhere _else _you like."

HK-47 clunked towards Revan and focussed its photoreceptors squarely on his person. "Observation: You are different in **many** fundamental ways, Master. You have a concern for life that is _unsettling_. This cannot solely be caused by memory loss. I do not know _how_ to explain it. Regardless, you **do** seem to be improved overall, from the meatbag I once knew. Retraction: Did I say that out loud? While it is true you _are_ a meatbag, I should refrain from addressing you as such..."

"Before we go any further, HK - _please_ enlighten me - what's with the... the constant 'meatbag' references?"

"Explanation: It's just that... you have all these _squishy_ parts, Master. And all that water! How the constant sloshing doesn't drive you **mad**, I have no idea..."

I don't know whether to laugh or just give up, thought Revan as he rubbed his forehead ruefully. Patience! HK's a droid, follows programming - you are responsible for all of that...

"I survive, _somehow_," said Revan drily. "But I would **very** much like to know why you insist on calling _everyone_ a 'meatbag'!"

HK-47 whirred contentedly. "Recollection: Your pupil once asked me what I thought of him and I informed him of his meatbag status. _He _was unimpressed, but _you_ thought the reference was humorous. You programmed me to _continue_ using that reference. It drove your pupil to **extreme** lengths of frustration."

Revan couldn't help but laugh. "So _Malak_ was the _original_ meatbag? I _like_ that idea...!"

"Of _course _you do, Master. You liked it _then _as well." HK-47's processor lights dimmed a little. "Commentary: Perhaps it would have been for the better had you removed _the rest_ of your pupil's head, along with his jaw, Master."

"Why do you say that, HK?" asked Revan.

"Statement: Your former pupil is efficient and brutal, even for an organic. I rather liked him when you first introduced me to him. Oh, Master! Had I** known** what he would do to you, I would have _gladly _removed his entrails then!"

"I'm afraid I do not understand, HK. Why did Malak and I fall out... why did I... remove his _jaw_?"

"Answer: Your former pupil nursed _numerous_ grudges against you, Master. I believe it had something to do with his dissatisfaction over where he stood in your meatbag hierarchy. Clarification: You were _clearly_ superior to him, Master. Wise meatbags recognise and submit to superiority when they see it. Speculation: Perhaps I ought to revise my previous estimate of your former pupil's intellect? Continued clarification: Regardless of the standard meatbag operating procedures, your former pupil _chafed_ at authority, and openly challenged your leadership - "

"When did this happen?"

"Statement: Shortly after you programmed me to continue using the 'meatbag' reference, Master. As I recall, your former pupil took it as a most **personal **insult. Perhaps, Master, you ought to have programmed me to call him a _liquidous fleshbag_ instead..."

So Malak is proud, and has a quick temper, Revan mused. And he probably dislikes the term 'meatbag' _immensely_, too... "What else did Malak and I disagree over?"

HK-47 appeared to be running through its memory banks. "_Many_ things, Master. His _numerous _dalliances, for example. Also, matters of strategy, tactics. He would have preferred for you to bomb worlds into submission: you preferred a more... _targeted_ approach. Observation: Quite frankly, Master, the two of you did not agree on a **vast** number of subjects. It puzzles me how you **ever** came to acquire such a pupil! I can attribute it only to an error of judgement, of the variety so often committed by meatbags..."

"Hmm."

Revan sat at the workbench, lost in thought. They would arrive at the Star Forge in only a matter of hours, and soon he would have to face Malak once and for all. He strongly felt that he owed it to Alek - the Jedi Malak once had been, the friend he had led astray - to make an attempt at reasoning with him or urging him to return to the Light. He knew, too, that it was unlikely that Malak would be so easily dissuaded. In fact, it was almost a giventhat **any** attempt on his part to undo the ills of the past would be viewed as an act of _grave_ provocation by the Dark Lord of the Sith - a personal insult! - and that a final confrontation _would_ take place; from which only one of them would walk away.

Their previous clash aboard the _Leviathan_ was still fresh in Revan's mind. He knew that Malak was a strong opponent, and that the latter's immersion in the Dark side of the Force made him only the more lethal: Malak had means at his disposal which Revan did not. The contest between them would, in a sense, be unevenly matched. Still, Malak's ability to inflict damage ultimately depended on his focus - break that focus, introduce distraction, _interfere_ with his connection to the Force - and his odds of surviving Malak would be _significantly_ improved.

HK-47 stood before its Master, patiently awaiting his next command.

"HK," said Revan firmly. "I want you to tell me _everything_ you know about Malak."

* * *

A party of waiting Jedi rushed to the _Ebon Hawk_ as soon as it landed in the Star Forge's hangar bay, crowding around the ramp as it lowered.

"Juhani!" cried one of the Jedi - a Human female - as she waved at the occupants of the _Ebon Hawk_. "The Council sent us to assist you. Where is... you-know-who?"

"Do you mean **me**, or _Malak_?" said Revan, appearing with Jolee at the top of the ramp. "Hello, everyone. I'm... Revan. But if it's _Malak_ you want, I believe he's hidden himself somewhere deep inside this Forge. Be very careful - this place is likely to be _swarming_ with Dark Je-"

The blast doors to the east and west of the hangar unsealed themselves with an almighty clang. As one, all the assembled Jedi turned to face the source of the disturbance. Black-clad figures, moving purposefully towards them... _red lightsabers_!

"Sith!" shouted one of the Jedi, drawing his weapon and running to meet the oncoming enemy. The remaining Jedi did likewise, activating their lightsabers and spreading out to face the Dark Jedi who were pouring into the hangar.

Juhani and Jolee leapt off the ramp and charged into the fray, lightsabers flashing.

"Zaalbar! HK!" bellowed Revan, as he unclipped his weapons from his belt. "Close the breach! _Close the breach_! Carth! You and Canderous - I'm putting _you two_ in charge of security! _Hold the hangar until I return_!"

Cutting down the Dark Jedi who threw themselves into his path, Revan battled his way to where Juhani and a male Twi'lek Jedi were fending off three challengers. When the last of the three had been dispatched, the Twi'lek Jedi urged Revan and Juhani to leave, grabbing Jolee by the sleeve and thrusting him in their direction. "**Go**! Find Malak! We will stay here and defend the _Ebon Hawk_ - go **now**!" Then he spun on his heel and dashed into another mélee, his weapon a dazzling blur of blue light.

Revan, Juhani and Jolee exchanged glances, a wordless understanding passing between them. With one accord, they ran through the open blast door, onto the deck of the Star Forge.

* * *

Jolee coughed and spat to the side. "Grenadiers...!" he exclaimed. "_Sithspawn_ - how many _damn_ troopers an' Dark Jedi are there on this thing?" The old Jedi hacked up another gob of spit and wiped his mouth on a sleeve.

"Plenty," said Juhani, licking a nasty-looking burn on her off hand, which had narrowly escaped being blown off by a stray blaster shot. She looked alertly around, her ears twitching to catch the faintest sound. "Nobody is coming this way - _for now_. I suggest you to make this quick, Revan. Much time is what we do not have."

"Got it," mumbled Revan, frowning as he navigated the interface on the computer terminal. "...ventilation systems... capacitor charges... heating... ah. Security... gun turrets... elevator." Quickly taking the gun turrets guarding the approach to the command centre elevator offline, Revan turned and called over his shoulder to his waiting companions.

"Turrets are offline! Give me just _one more minute_-" Withdrawing a handful of spikes from a pouch on his belt, Revan fed them into a port on the terminal and punched a sequence into the console. The strange, glowing contraption to the right of the terminal buzzed irritably for a few seconds before emitting a high-pitched whine together with a blinding flash of light.

"_What _in the Corellian **hells**-" shouted Jolee from the entrance to the terminal room. A loud blast drowned out the rest of his sentence.

"Sith!" screamed Juhani, deflecting blaster shots with her lightsaber back at a line of incoming Sith troopers. Jolee swore and threw a plasma grenade into the distance: it exploded in a searing burst of fiery orange. Their advance halted, the Sith fell back momentarily, seeking to regroup.

The Cathar Jedi whipped around to see what Revan was doing. A cry of annoyed surprise escaped her lips. The man was - he was actually _changing his clothes_ - here? **Now**? She stared in disbelief and hollered at Revan. "What **is** this nonsense? This is no time for the fashions! We must go! _Now_!"

Kicking aside his old tunic, Revan hurried towards his friends, adjusting the front of his new robes as he went. Jolee raised an eyebrow. "_New threads_! You gotta be _kidding_ - now!...eh, you wouldn't happen to have any _extras_, would you?"

Revan shook his head. "I got the machine to - it's some kind of weird contraption - there was this thing on the feed that said 'Star Forge Robes'... and I kind of had a good feeling about that, so..."

"Forget it," snarled Juhani. "Fight now! Talk later!" With a shrill cry, the Cathar Jedi Force-jumped several metres ahead, cutting down a Master-and-Acolyte duo that had just emerged from one of the walkways leading from the decks. Quickly placing the accompanying Dark Jedi into stasis, Jolee Force-pushed several oncoming Sith grenadiers out of range and threw his lightsaber at the frozen Dark Jedi. Moving quickly, Revan cut a path through the Sith - troopers, grenadiers, and Dark Jedi alike; racing towards the elevator as fast as his legs would take him.

As he punched the elevator button, Revan noted that Juhani and Jolee were not far behind: however, a bevy of Dark Jedi were hot on their heels. He ripped the safety pins off two grenades and hurled them with all his strength at the approaching enemy.

Juhani and Jolee dived forwards, hitting the floor and rolling in time to escape being caught in the explosion.

Revan grabbed both of them by their collars and yanked them into the waiting elevator.

As the elevator sped upwards to the command centre, Juhani unceremoniously aimed a booted foot at Revan's rear, leaving a dark boot-print on the pristine white of his new garments.

"Hey!" yelped Revan. "What was _that_ for?"

"_That_," hissed the Cathar Jedi, "was for insane-crazy throwing of grenades _over. My. Head._"

"I'd kiss you for having saved our butts just now, but that would be totally **wrong**," chirped Jolee. "Feel free to claim it from _Juhani_ anytime, though..."

Before Juhani could make a suitable retort, the elevator doors had opened, and the three Jedi found themselves standing in the entrance to the command centre.

* * *

Bastila sat facing the large holomap, her eyes shut. A faint, glittering aura surrounded her person, an ethereal mirror of the specks that danced across the surface of the holomap: ships, snub fighters, bombers...

Silently touching the Force, Bastila marshalled her considerable willpower and focused on the Sith ships she knew to be circling the Star Forge, guarding the approaches to the immense war factory.

Through the Force, she could sense the presence of the sentients staffing each of the Sith Destroyers, the thoughts of the pilots who flew into the heat of battle against the approaching Republic capital ships... the Dark Jedi scattered throughout the Sith armada; and to these presences in the Force, collectively and individually, Bastila willed resolve - determination, conviction, tenacity - and imposed _her_ will upon them.

_This_, thought Bastila, was the _truest_ expression of her Gift. The Jedi had contented themselves with teaching her to use Battle Meditation as a means of strengthening the morale of one's allies while simultaneously lowering that of one's opponents: the Sith, however, pushed her talent a step farther. She no longer needed to stand by the sidelines, offering mere encouragement or spreading disenchantment, as the case might be - no, now she could bend the minds of many to **her** will - willing them, _commanding_ them through the Force, to act as _she _would have them do. Her will became _theirs_, insofar as their weak and willing minds allowed her commands entrance. And there were so many, **many**, weak and impressionable minds...!

Nonetheless, for all her focus, one troubling notion continued to plague Bastila. However she tried to ignore it - to command it to desist from impinging upon her consciousness - it, like a stubborn rash, refused to go away. Troubled, Bastila broke her Battle Meditation to deal with the insistent thought before it drove her mad with its lurking presence.

As always, it was the same subject. _Revan._ Be honest with yourself at least, thought Bastila. This isn't just any old thought. This is... I don't know _what_ it is! A memory? A moment? It bears with it so much _more_ than just... an idea, or - or a recollection. It's loaded - _emotionally loaded_ - and _I dare not_ examine it. Why? What is there to fear? The Sith have freed me from... from the fear of facing my own emotions that the Masters fostered in me... why, then, am I afraid? I cannot go on like this!

Taking a deep breath, Bastila prepared herself to confront her feelings once and for all...

Revan, asleep in the pilot's seat with his feet on the display. Her embarrassment when he caught her staring at him. The strange, warm feeling she had experienced when he told her he found her attractive... the warmth she had felt when he first expressed his feelings for her... Revan, sitting by her side as she spent the night of that disastrous wedding party throwing up like there was no tomorrow... the many scrapes that they had been in together, their Court appearances in Manaan...

Amazing how just this one person could provoke a plethora of conflicting emotions within her - all of them so real, so powerful... so _undeniable_! And then, touching and colouring each and every one of the jumbled-up impressions, recollections, images and feelings that she could not dissociate from Revan: that one long and _blissful _moment in the women's cabin, when he had embraced her for the first time and they had stood like fools, wrapped in each other and in the moment, noses bumping as both of them clumsily attempted to outdo the other in sucking the air out of their lungs.

There was no denying that these memories - **all **of which were wrapped up with the subject of Revan - were painful to her now. _Why_? wondered Bastila. As a Jedi, suppressing and denying what I felt for him was grief itself: why, then, does it hurt me even _more_ now to be honest about my feelings for him? Just thinking of Revan - to linger on him, even as a subject - is far more painful _now_ than it ever was before I turned to the Sith. **Why**?

As if he had sensed her thoughts, Darth Malak's voice sounded in Bastila's head. "You must put aside your... petty sentiment for Revan, my Apprentice. Your foolish love for him will only weaken you - and in weakness, there is only death."

Bastila buried her face in her hands, the picture of misery. _Was it truly weakness to love Revan_? Or to desire his love? Painful as it was for her to linger on memories of the moments they had shared, Bastila could not deny that she felt a strange sort of security in re-living them. Tender words spoken, acts of random kindness, even Revan's inanely corny jokes - all of that tended to reassure her in some mysterious way. She did not understand how, or why it did; but she knew that she had never felt safer - or more assured - than she had at those times.

_Love_ - was that the answer, then? Not the overbearing power of the Dark side. Not the malevolent storm of passion that was the Dark path, which, to be honest, truly _frightened_ her: it offered no security, none at all! The way of the Sith was _brutal_, encouraging the perpetration of the _grossest_ cruelties, manipulations and betrayals in the name of power-mongering. Even _then_, the power that might be gained from years of double-dealing and bloody warfare could be lost in an _instant_. With the Sith, there could be no letting down of one's guard. Shadows were, indeed, _everywhere_.

But she had never felt the need to watch her step around Revan - or any of the Jedi, come to think of it. The Masters on Dantooine might have been a "bunch of kooks", as Revan had put it - and _hardly_ beyond reproach, but their hearts were largely in the right place. _Even Master_ _Vrook Lamar_ had been known to gruffly pat the occasional Padawan on the head from time to time. How she _longed_ for that security - her old sense of self - again!

Could I ever return, though? agonised Bastila. I have fallen - fallen so **far**... I have even used my gift _to aid the Sith_ - and there's no way I can justify how, or why I fell...! Can the Order ever take me back, again? _Is there still a place in the Force for one such as I_?

The door to the vast holomap chamber opened behind Bastila, interrupting her flow of thought. She jumped up and whirled around to face whoever it was. _Revan_! Juhani - and Jolee! Bastila quickly placed the latter two under stasis. Revan did not seem to notice: instead, he strode briskly forward, closing the gap between Bastila and himself in a matter of seconds.

"Princess..."

More out of pique than anything, Bastila shot back a shrill riposte. "The name is _Bastila_!"

"All right - Bastila." Revan paused, regarding the pale and obviously unhappy girl standing before him. Jolee's words to him just before they entered the holomap chamber echoed in his mind: "...love itself will save you, not condemn you." Looking deep into Bastila's eyes, Revan spoke gently.

"Bastila... you know why I'm here. I _have_ to stop Malak."

Revan watched as the girl eyed him warily, backing away towards the holomap. He did not follow her.

"I know. And... I... have to stop you."

"Why, Bastila?"

Bastila frowned. "Because I'm his Apprentice, _that's_ why - and, and... you're a _Jedi_ - I'm a _Sith_ now... things have changed, Revan."

Did he imagine it, or had there been just the slightest droop to Bastila's shoulders? wondered Revan. He pursued his inquiry. "That doesn't answer the question _why_, Bastila. And how have things changed? ..._I still love you_."

Bastila's heart leapt when she heard those words, and then twisted painfully under a dagger of self-accusation. She flung herself at Revan, her lightsaber sweeping furiously: Revan easily parried and re-directed each stroke, before firmly Force-pushing Bastila away.

"Please, Bastila...! _Stop_! I **don't** want to fight you - _I don't want to hurt you_ -" pleaded Revan. Locked in stasis, Juhani and Jolee could only watch, powerless to intervene as events unfolded.

Bastila picked herself up off the floor, and reached out a hand towards the holomap: a bright light emanated from it and poured over her.

"Here, I cannot be defeated, Revan...! The power of the Star Forge _energises_ me - and it will continue to do so until I cut you down - or you end me, _forever_," she told him.

Shaking his head, Revan addressed Bastila once more. "You say that as if there were no other choice, my love-"

"There **is** no other choice!" cried Bastila. "What choice **do** I have? What choice do _you_ have? I have fallen, Revan - _fallen_! And now there is no Council to... to wipe my memories, to _restore_ me to - to what I once **was** - what choice do _either_ of us have?" Tears sprung unbidden to her eyes, and she wiped them angrily away.

"You _do _have a choice, Bastila...! You don't need a Council to - to mind wipe you, or - or do any sort of Force_ quackery_ on you to make you whole again... it's a decision you can make _yourself_, my love...! Come back, Bastila - _please_! You are not lost, _not yet_ - and I went farther, much, _much farther_ down the Dark path than you have. Please, Bastila! I_ love_ you..."

Revan sensed a tingling in the Force just in time to block a barrage of Force Lightning sent his way by Bastila.

"Do you **see**, Revan? Do you see now how _far_ I have fallen? A Jedi - _a true Jedi_ - would never have been able to do that! I am no longer... the same, Revan. How _can_ you still love me?"

"Because I _do_, Bastila. Just like _you_ could love _me_, knowing my true identity and history. _How many could have loved one who had been Darth Revan - as you did_?"

Bastila went even paler than before, and her hands shook. Her heart raced - could she, like Revan, come back to the Light? Was Revan offering her the support, the way out, that she so _desperately_ needed? Could she - having known so much, yet fallen this far - be as easily forgiven? _Was it all so easy_?

"You... really **do** love me, don't you...?"

"I _do_, Princess." Revan laid both his lightsabers on the floor as he spoke to Bastila - "And I trust you enough to leave myself open to your attack."

Kill him! **Now**! This is your chance - redeem yourself in the eyes of your Master! screamed the Dark at Bastila. But she was as one dumb to its call: Revan - he trusted her, still? After_ all_ she had done? Even though she had held his freedom in her hands, kept his own identity from him - acted her role in the Masters' scheme? The faint flicker of hope and love that Malak had sought to extinguish in Bastila now burst gloriously forth, and the darkness he had thrown about her receded before its light.

Casting down her weapon, Bastila stumbled towards Revan, sobbing bitterly. Juhani and Jolee exchanged glances of relief as she threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him over. Revan's heart raced as he put his arms around his beloved. He patted her back awkwardly and kissed the top of her head as Bastila wept into his shoulder.

"...you're not afraid to love anymore...?"

"No... not anymore... not - I... _nothing_ could make me feel... _safer_, than... than to be loved... by _you_," said Bastila between sniffles. Presently, she looked up at Revan and smiled weakly at him. "I'm such an **idiot**," she said.

"We're _both_ idiots," murmured Revan, as he dried the streaks that ran down Bastila's face with the sleeve of his new robes. "I guess that's why we need each other."

"You're either very brave, or very foolish," chided Bastila - but her heart wasn't in it.

"How _else _would I live up to my title of 'Sir Cabbage'?"

Bastila laughed a little and wiped her nose on her sleeve. The stasis under which she had placed Jolee and Juhani had worn off by this time, and both Jedi came running up. Noting their arrival, Bastila patted Revan affectionately on the shoulder, and straightened his robes.

"Malak is waiting for you at the heart of the Star Forge," she whispered. "I... dare not go with you, Revan. His dark presence may... overwhelm me."

Grasping her hand, Revan squeezed it firmly as he brought it to his lips. "Stay here, Princess. I _will_ return for you." Summoning his weapons to him with the Force, Revan turned to leave. Just as he reached the door at the opposite end of the chamber, Bastila called out to him.

"_May the Force be with you, my love_."


	20. Chapter 20

Darth Malak paced restlessly up and down the length of the viewing platform, his hands alternately clenched at his side or twitching behind his back.

You are nearing, Revan, muttered the Dark Lord. Your presence in the Force grows ever stronger - ah, Revan... you have _always_ been strong in the Force, but today **I **have the upper hand! This Forge is a monument to the power of the Dark Side! What are you now but a _pathetic_ servant of the Light? You were _blind_, Revan. All the Star Forge ever was to you was a factory, _nothing_ more. You did not seek to discover its secrets, as **I** have. You sought to distance yourself from this place - **I** have_ embraced_ it! You thought the Star Forge would only feed upon you: you were _mistaken_.

The Dark Lord of the Sith paused before a group of glowing cells, in each of which hung a single, seemingly-lifeless, broken form. Regarding the occupants of each cell with an expression of pure contempt, he reached out through the Force to touch the minds of each of his captives.

_Jedi_! sneered the Dark Lord. Look where your _slavish_ devotion to the Light has brought you! Each of you willingly gave yourselves to its service, almost to the death - but it is not the Light that has kept life in you - it is **I**, Darth Malak, using a Forge that you call an 'abomination'! And very soon, you, the sworn servants of the Light - you, who teach _submission_ to the Will of the Force, will serve the darkness, whether you will or no... and there is none that can save you. _Are you suffering, Jedi_? **I **will end your torment... soon. Can you feel the Force, Jedi? Yes... you do. It is all around you. _But not for long_. Do you wish for the sweet release of death, Jedi? To become _one_ with the Force? Ah... of _course _you do. But tell me, Jedi - _how _will you become one with the Force after I have _stripped_ the Force from you?

An observer would have seen no indication that the Dark Lord's words had been heard - much less understood - by the battered occupants of each cell. But Darth Malak knew that he _had_ been heard, and that his Jedi captives understood - and despaired. Their anguish and indescribable horror at the prospect of being utterly severed from the Force washed over their captor like the waves on Kamino. Darth Malak's eyes gleamed with a merciless glow as he savoured the bitterness of their grief.

Turning from the scene, the Dark Lord resumed his prowling, his mind also returning to brood upon his hatred for the Order, for the Light, and for Revan. The irony, thought Darth Malak, was _deliciously_ beautiful: In unravelling his own legacy as Dark Lord of the Sith, Revan would be the undoing of these valiant Jedi captives.

* * *

Revan hurled himself through the door, rolling out of the way just in time to avoid being caught in a shower of sparks as the last of the Forge droid generators exploded. He sat coughing on the walkway for a while, the acrid smoke from a roomful of exploded generators still burning his throat. As he rested, Revan planned his next move. Malak, he knew, waited for him just beyond the next door. His former friend's dark presence was palpable, a horrid, angry lump in the calm stillness of the Force.

Malak is angry - _very_ angry, thought Revan. I doubt he will even _listen_ to anything I have to say: his hatred for me is _legendary_. And he will feed his anger with his hatred, fanning it into a maelstrom of rage; and in a place brimming with darkness like this? If we were to engage in a contest of Force powers, I'd likely be _dead_ in a matter of minutes - or **worse**, seduced back to the Dark side through my own desperation. I guess it will have to be outright combat... only one of us will walk away, and the galaxy cannot afford for the victor to be Malak.

The knowledge of what he had to do grieved Revan doubly: ending the menace of a Sith Lord was one thing, but when the Sith Lord in question had once been a dear friend and a good man led astray by himself? It was akin to destroying the same person, _twice_ over. Revan could not remember what Alek the Jedi had been like, or the friendship that they had shared - but that did not lessen the painful enormity of what he now had to do. Putting things right, he thought, is a _greater_ sacrifice than obedience itself.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Revan shut his eyes and fought back a tide of emotion - guilt, sorrow, apprehension - seeking the equilibrium of mind and spirit that were now more critical for him than ever. As he sat with his back against the wall, heart racing, head ringing with the unruly screaming of a thousand and one raucous thoughts, he thought he heard - or felt - the Jedi code being whispered into his consciousness. With it came a sudden, inexplicable sense of relief - of calm assurance, confidence, and _peace_. Revan saw - or thought he saw - the_ certainty_ of his victory over Malak, the final destruction of the Star Forge, the victory of the Republic, the halt of the Sith advance... Accompanying these was also the _unshakeable_ conviction that, painful as it would be, ending Malak would be the best way he could honour the memory of Alek the Jedi.

Thoroughly energised, Revan stood and marched to meet Malak, a new confidence in his step.

* * *

Juhani and Jolee stood with their backs to the immense holomap, warily watching the door in front of them. It was presently sealed - locked from the inside - but neither Jedi were taking any chances of a surprise attack by any Dark Jedi or Acolytes who might take it into their heads to come knocking. The Cathar Jedi's ears twitched as she strained to catch the slightest sound made by any approaching foe. Jolee looked over his shoulder, across the vast chamber, towards the door through which Revan had passed earlier. Bastila sat on the floor facing the holomap, seemingly enveloped by a sheer glimmering blanket.

"How long has our Great Leader been gone?" grunted Jolee to the Cathar. "I need to _pee_."

"A few minutes at the most," said Juhani quietly, her ears still twitching. "What is Bastila doing, do you see?"

"Girl's started playin' wi' people's heads again, by the looks of it," he whispered.

Juhani frowned. What was the old Human talking about? "What are you meaning?"

Jolee scratched at the stubble on his cheeks as he answered. "Battle Meditation...! What _else_ is that if it ain't some kind of massive Jedi _mind-trick_?"

Venturing a brief glance behind, Juhani spoke again. "She... is helping Revan, do you think?"

"Of _course_ she is," snorted Jolee. "She **loves **him."

* * *

"Malak."

"Well done, Revan. I was certain the defenses of the Star Forge would destroy you, but I see there is more of your old self in you than I expected. You are stronger than I thought; stronger then you ever were during your reign as the Dark Lord. I did not think that was possible." The Dark Lord drew his weapon and strode purposefully towards his adversary.

"Here, in the heart of the Star Forge, our destinies are to be decided... _once and for all_. Here, where it all began." Adopting a neutral stance, Darth Malak regarded his former friend and Master warily.

Revan's gaze wandered from the Sith Lord to the row of glowing cells directly ahead... shapes... human forms - _people_! Suspended in - was that kolto? He did not think so. Thinking that Revan's attention had been drawn elsewhere, Darth Malak seized the opportunity and lunged, the red blade of his lightsaber poised to impale his former friend in one swift stroke. But Revan was not to be caught off-guard that easily: leaping aside, he dodged and parried the thrust, then summoned the Force and pushed Darth Malak away.

Caught unawares, the Dark Lord of the Sith flew backwards and rolled head over heels into one of the struts supporting the upper level of the viewing platform.

"Stop!" cried Revan, as Darth Malak got to his feet and readied himself to attack once more. "Malak - we _need _to **talk**."

Darth Malak's eyes narrowed to slits, his greyed irises gleaming with a dangerous light. "We have _nothing_ to say to each other, Revan," spat he. "Once, you were the Master, and I the apprentice; I overthrew you when I saw that I was powerful enough." He bounded towards Revan again, lightsaber flashing.

Revan blocked the Sith Lord's overhead strike. Seeing that Malak would continue attacking if no distance were put between himself and the Sith Lord, Revan pointed the tip of one of his sabers at Malak: the Sith Lord did the same. Both men circled each other slowly.

"You and I were friends before, Malak."

The Dark Lord hissed in response, a horrid tinny sound. Revan ignored him and pressed ahead. "We were **Jedi**, _brothers_ in arms. It is _not too late_, Malak - you can still turn back!"

"Turn _back_?" Darth Malak's mirthless laughter echoed off the walls. His forehead creased into a sneer as he answered Revan. "You _deceive_ yourself, Revan! We crossed that boundary when we passed through the doors of that ancient artefact on Dantooine!"

"We were _wrong_, Malak! Turning back was not my choice to start with - but now it **is**...! You can _still _choose - I destroyed you once, Malak. When I led Alek down the dark path..."

A blazing fury ignited in the Dark Lord's breast. Darth Malak screamed, swept the violet blade of Revan's saber out of the way, and leapt at him, the red blade of his own weapon a deadly blur. Acting on instinct, Revan skilfully turned the blow aside with one weapon whilst simultaneously raking the tip of the other across Darth Malak's exposed chest, before sending the Dark Lord flying backwards with another burst of Force energy. A sickening crack followed by a low growl of pain signalled that Darth Malak's ribcage had collided with the base of one of the glowing cells. The Dark Lord staggered to his feet and glared at Revan, his breath coming in heavy rasps. When he spoke, his voice was heavy, laced with pain.

"...it will not be easy to destroy me... Revan..." he hissed. "Not **here**..."

Painfully raising an arm, Darth Malak pointed at the occupant of the glowing cell nearest him. "Recognise this Jedi?...of course you do... he is one of _those_... at the Enclave..."

Closing his eyes, the Dark Lord drew on the darkness within him, and opened himself to the corrupting miasma of the Star Forge. An arc of Force energy enveloped the cell and its occupant: Revan could only stare in horror as the unfortunate Jedi captive writhed painfully within his confines, eyes fluttering open in terrified shock as his senses registered the indescribable _agony_ of having the Living Force ripped clean out of him; before life itself departed with one final, tormented contortion. As the blackened shell of what had once been a noble Jedi knight fell, worse than lifeless to the floor of its cell, the Force energy Revan had seen enveloped the Dark Lord, and seemed to disappear into his body.

The hollow, mirthless laughter of Darth Malak, Lord of the Sith once again echoed throughout the viewing platform. "Ha ha ha ha ha...! Revan, do you now see the_ power_ of the Dark side? _How many times can you strike me down, Revan_? _How many Jedi will you condemn _to an eternity devoid of the Force, before _you yourself_ share their fate?"

Revan staggered backwards, the enormity of what he had just witnessed imprinting itself painfully on his awareness. The magnitude of the atrocity, and the gashlike agony in the Force that it left in its wake was almost too much to bear. A distant memory flashed briefly to life in a corner of his mind: water... an alien planet... many, _many_ Jedi... Masters... the Council... suddenly, a vision - _slaughter, carnage_... one lone voice advocating mercy, all too easily ignored, condemned to be cut down with the others, like so much grass... Another distant memory, accompanied by the most severe, _heartrending _pain he had ever experienced - a camp, friends... Jedi... suddenly, death: an open, _bleeding gash_ in the Force... his own voice, shouting... he had felt it... they **all** had.

Memory stirred again, and recognition flared to life in Revan's mind. A _wound_ - that's what he had felt then - a **wound** in the Force...!

He looked up in time to see Malak advancing on him, murder in his eyes. Leaping up to the elevated viewing platform, Revan spotted two more Jedi imprisoned in similar cells. Noting that Malak had not Force-jumped his way up to the platform, Revan decided to take a calculated risk: he flung one of his lightsabers into the cell nearest to him, keeping the other in a defensive position. Guided by the Force, the weapon slammed into the cell, causing it to explode. It disgorged its prisoner almost in slow-motion. Darting towards the destroyed cell, one hand raised to catch his returning lightsaber, Revan could not help but note the sweet expression of peace that came over the bruised and tortured face of the Jedi, as she surrendered herself to the Force one last time.

As he ran past her lifeless body, Revan thought that he felt a gentle, warm brushing at the side of his face. No words could he hear, but none were needed: the impression alone sufficed. The Jedi, whoever she had been, was thankful: in allowing her to become one with the Force, Revan had spared her an unthinkable fate.

The knowledge warmed him and gave him a new impetus. Focussing more fully on the Force, Revan drew heavily on it as he prepared to make the fastest sprint of his life. Augmenting his speed with the Force, Revan ran towards the next cell, flinging his lightsaber at it - it exploded, he caught the returning weapon - no time to look behind to check where Malak was... he leapt off the platform to the floor below, sent the retrieved weapon spinning madly into another cell... another explosion, another shower of sparks -

Darth Malak screamed like a man possessed.

"Will you free them all, _Jedi_ Revan? The darkness and the light wage a constant war within you! I _know_ you, I know your _thoughts_ - I know how far you can _fall_! The balance is tipped one way now, but it can **easily** be tipped back!" A surge in the Force - Revan's heightened awareness told him that Malak was about to attack - he caught his weapon as it returned to him, and spun on his heel to face Malak. Not a moment too soon: Force lightning was already crackling through the air. Raising one of his weapons, Revan caught the blue arcs easily on its blade before swinging the weapon overhead and directing the energy back at Malak, who was forced to withdraw for the moment.

With Malak thus occupied, Revan recommenced his mad sprint, taking down one, and then two more cells...

...now, only one cell stood between him and Malak. Pausing at the top of the upper viewing platform to catch his breath, Revan made his final appeal.

"Alek...! _Don't_ make me do this - you were my **friend**, once - the Dark Lord is _not_ who you are, Alek...!"

"Alek is _dead_!" snarled Darth Malak. His eyes were no longer a dull grey: they were red - bloodshot, and blazing with an inferno of hate. "I am **Malak** now - _Dark Lord of the Sith_! I am the terror of the galaxy, a walking nightmare; _I am Death itself_! Alek was a painfully pathetic fool! As are _you_, Revan - savior, conqueror, hero, villain: you are all things; and yet you are _nothing_. In the end you belong to neither the light nor the darkness! You will forever stand alone, Revan!"

With a roar, the Dark Lord vaulted upwards, blade and robes combining into one lethal red blur. Acting quickly, Revan Force-jumped away from Malak, putting himself directly in front of the last remaining cell. As he looked into the hate-blackened face of the man who had once been his closest friend, Revan knew that Malak was beyond reason. He also knew that by rights, he should now be a bundle of nerves... but for reasons unknown to him, certainty had taken the place of worry. Somehow, Revan felt confident that the harebrained idea his subconscious was suggesting to him would _actually work_ - and by the five Corellian hells, _he was going to pull it off_ -

Darth Malak poured all of his hatred, bile, and pent-up invective into the seething pool of passions that raged within him, drawing the darkness of the Star Force, the power of the Dark side into himself - becoming, in a very real sense, the_ Dark side_ - and bounded off the upper platform, red lightsaber blade aimed with unerring accuracy - an unstoppable Force-augmented hurricane, intent on the kill. At the last moment, Revan dropped to the floor, and Force-pushed himself out of the way. Time seemed to slow around him as he slid backwards across the polished floor: raising an arm, Revan threw one of his weapons at the Dark Lord. The red lightsaber turned circles in its trajectory, painting a blood-red spiral in the air as it hurtled on its mission of death.

The cell exploded in a blinding flash of light as Darth Malak's own lightsaber pierced its transparisteel frame, Jedi prisoner and Sith Lord falling alike on the sharp edges of the broken cylinder. Revan's red lightsaber buried itself to the hilt in Malak's side just as the Dark Lord impaled himself on an up-sticking shard of transparisteel. Malak's cry of agonised defeat reverberated through the hall.

Beyond the droid generator room, Jolee and Juhani heard the distant echo of Darth Malak's cry, and exchanged apprehensive glances. Only Bastila seemed not to notice, the shimmering blanket of glittering light about her as bright as before.

Recalling his lightsaber, Revan stood and slowly made his way to where Alek - Darth Malak - lay. The Dark Lord's crimson robes were a darker red now than they had been before. Malak's own lightsaber lay a good few metres beyond the destroyed cell, broken in pieces, its contents scattered. As Revan approached, the Dark Lord heaved himself up, off the large, jagged shard that had pierced him through. The ugly wound on his abdomen bled freely. Revan hurried to steady his former friend, pity in his eyes; but Malak waved him away.

With a final, supreme effort, Darth Malak reached into the Force one last time, borrowing the strength he needed to see him through his final moments. The effort sapped his physical strength nearly completely: he crumpled onto the ground, his blood pooling out beneath him. Feebly beckoning, the Dark Lord of the Sith called out to his friend-turned-foe.

"_Revan_..."

"I am here, Alek." Revan knelt by the dying man, a lump in his throat. He could not remember the camaraderie he and Alek had had, but the pain of losing a dear friend was something primal, something beyond memory.

"Here we are... Revan... you... and I... at, at... the **end**..." A gurgling sound came from Malak's throat, followed by a thin trail of red seeping out from under his metal prosthesis. Gently, Revan raised Malak's head, placing it at an angle on his knee so that the dying man could breathe freely.

"Alek, I - I am so,_ so sorry_... for leading you astray - _no friend would have done that_..." Drawing on the Force once more, Revan attempted to assuage some of the pain which Malak must be feeling, hoping that this would buy them both some time to say their goodbyes.

"It is _not_ too late to_ save_ you, Alek..." said Revan, as he watched Malak growing ever paler. "You are not shut out from the Light - _not yet_!" The Dark Lord's eyes shut for a second, then fluttered open again.

"Per-perhaps... you... were right, Revan. ...Still ... still spouting the wisdom of... the Jedi, I see. Maybe... there is _more _truth... in their Code than I ever... believed." Darth Malak paused, and gulped air hungrily.

"I ... I cannot help but wonder, Revan... had our positions been... reversed? ...if fate had... decreed I... would be captured by the Jedi? Could... I have returned to the light, as... you did? If you had not... led... me down... the dark path, ...what _destiny_... would I... have found?

Revan shook his head sadly and wiped his eyes with his free hand. "I... do not know, Alek. All I have are regrets: many, _many_ regrets - you were not the _only_ good Jedi I led astray... not the _only_ one that I destroyed."

Malak's eyes shut, and fluttered open again. "...Bastila?" he queried.

"She lives."

"_Good_." Malak gasped painfully for breath again: Revan drew on the Force once more, willing strength into the dying man, willing him to live just a little longer - _a little more!_ - to buy Alek more time... one more opportunity, _one more chance_ at redemption... He made one final, impassioned plea to the fallen Sith Lord. "I did start you down the dark path, but there is_ no reason_ to continue in it. Come _back _to the Light, Alek... _there is still time_..."

The fingers on Malak's right hand, which lay across the ugly hole in his abdomen, twitched. Sensing that Malak wished to grasp his hand, Revan reached out for the searching, blood-slicked fingers and held them. They were cold to the touch.

Gone was the red glow of bloodlust in Malak's eyes. But for the traces of grey which streaked them, the brown eyes that looked up at Revan could have belonged to the Jedi Alek.

In a voice barely above a whisper, Malak said, "I suppose... you speak... truth... but I... have _lost_ my... faith. I... must..._ accept_ responsibility... my fate. I wanted... Master of the Sith... ruler... the galaxy... that destiny was not mine, Revan. It might... have been yours... but _never_ mine."

Another gurgle from the Dark Lord, and a thicker stream of blood than before - Revan felt Malak's shivering fingers press his hand gently, as the Dark Lord spoke for the final time: "...and in the end... as... the darkness... takes me... I am... _nothing_."

"**Alek**!" shouted Revan, as Malak's trembling fingers twitched once and then fell still.

In the silence of the vast hall, a lone Jedi knelt, weeping over the still-warm body of a Dark Lord of the Sith.

* * *

The hidden door at the end of the holomap room unsealed itself with a sharp hiss. Juhani and Jolee whipped around, lightsabers at the ready.

"Revan...!" cried Juhani. She motioned for Jolee to put his lightsaber away. "The Force be_ thanked_ - you are all ri-"

"What's with all the _blood_, sonny boy?" barked Jolee, alarmed.

"Malak's dead," replied Revan simply. Bastila came out of her Battle Meditation with a long sigh, and jumped to her feet with an exclamation when she saw the state of Revan's robes. "Are you hurt?" she cried.

Revan shook his head in reply, and tried to smile reassuringly at her.

Jolee put two and two together and came up with four. "He's all right, lass. Just shell-shocked is all. Must have had a **hell** of an experience in there. This is no place to talk. Let's go!"

Revan barely registered how they got back to the _Ebon Hawk_, or the top-notch piloting that Carth and Canderous pulled off on their frenzied escape from the rapidly-imploding Star Forge.

He did, however, feel _intensely_ grateful that Bastila sat beside him all the way, even if she did fuss an _awful_ lot.

* * *

The hovercar passed through the packed airlanes of Coruscant. The decorated heroes stood nearly back-to-back in the vehicle, sandwiched between two lines of Jedi Star Forge veterans. Masters Vrook Lamar and Vandar Tokare sat at the front of the hovercar, affecting the ravages of age and attempting to make the most of a _very_ trying situation: first Lehon, _now_ Coruscant. They rather feared _Alderaan_ would be their next stop.

Carth ground the heel of his boot into Canderous' toe as he spoke through gritted teeth: "_Just. Bloody. Wave_! It's not karkin' going to **kill **you, for fierfek's sake...!"

Canderous winced discreetly, moved his foot a little to the left, and waved reluctantly at the assembled, cheering crowd, a ridiculously cheesy - and fake - grin plastered onto his face.

"Kriffin' gonna need a _stiff _drink after this namby-pamby _nonsense_," he hissed back. "Make that a double, **no** ice."

"_Agreed_," hissed Carth as he spat a moutful of confetti out of his mouth. "And I'd like to _personally_ thank the monkey-lizard who invented frackin' _confetti_ in the first place...!" The Republic officer spotted a HoloNet News hovercar in time to flash a brilliant, charming smile as the holocams clicked madly. Canderous followed his example.

Revan and Bastila endured the cheering and catcalls of the crowd with the stoicism of true Jedi, as Mission struggled through yet another fit of giggles.

"Wow! This is, like, _totally_, like _super-cool_, man...! I mean, look, what did I, like, even **do**? And I've got a _medal_! I mean, that's like a decoration or _something_, right? I mean, like, people are gonna see me now and say, 'Oh! Isn't _that_ the Twi'lek girl who like,_ totalliy_ helped save the galaxy's ass? Can I have your autograph? Oh! You're even_ prettier_ in person, Mission!'... or something, and **yeah**, I'm going to like, _totalliy become a star_ - will I get my **own** talk show? Huh?"

The Twi'lek teen jumped up and down in the holocar, waving madly and blowing kisses at the crowd.

Juhani raised her eyes heavenwards, counted to ten, and brought a clawed hand firmly down on the teen's shoulder. "Getting _quite_ far, I think, ahead of yourself today you are," she chided. "So fun it will not be next week, maybe _next month_, if _every day_ the HoloNet press are coming." Jolee grunted in agreement, then picked his nose and flicked a gob of _something_ at a reporter who happened to stray too close by.

HK-47 toted his blaster threateningly and speculated audibly about the number of meatbags it would be possible to do in with a "single shot, using an Aratech sniper rifle with a tri-light scope."

The crew of the Ebon Hawk, especially Zaalbar, breathed a collective sigh of relief when the day's round of pomp, circumstance and ceremony finally ended.

* * *

Revan found Bastila late that night, sitting on a stone bench under an ancient tree in the Temple gardens.

"Hey, you," he said, as he sat down beside her.

"Hey," said Bastila softly, as she gazed across the stillness of the large pond.

They sat in companionable silence for the better part of a half hour, each lost in contemplation. Finally, Bastila broke the silence.

"I've learned a lot."

"So have I."

"There's darkness in _every_ one of us, Revan. Even those of us with the best intentions."

"A lesson I learnt the hard way, too."

"And it's so... so frighteningly _easy_ to fall..."

Revan nodded. "That is true, Princess. But we _can choose_ not to."

"How do I know I won't... betray you - betray the Republic again?"

Straightening, Revan put an arm around Bastila, holding her close. "I don't know that, Princess. Just like I don't know if **I **won't become... Darth Revan again. _But I don't want to_ - for both our sakes - and I purpose to choose _not_ to, every moment... every breath. You can do the same, my love."

Bastila chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I'm glad you're with me," she said after a while.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be."

They passed a few more minutes in silence.

"Force, I was such an _insufferable_, self-righteous little _wretch_ - **how** did you even put up with me?"

"I was insufferable too, and probably self-righteous as well. I just don't remember it. How did you even start to_ like_ me?"

"You're not answering the question!"

Revan grinned. "Maybe it was the Will of the Force, Princess."

Bastila looked down and picked at a stray thread on her new Jedi robes. "Maybe you're right."

"I think the answer is 'unconditional love'," said Revan seriously. "_Everyone_ can do it. It's just easier_ not_ to."

Another silence followed. The night breeze picked up a little, and Bastila rubbed her nose. "I love you," she told Revan, burrowing into his shoulder.

"_I love you too_."

Patting Bastila's waist gently, Revan stood and shook the dew off his robes. Bastila slipped her hand into his, and together, they made their way back to the slumbering quietude of the Temple.


End file.
